


love like yours (will surely come my way)

by CCs_World



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (it's dealt with), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Professors, Angst, Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) has ADHD, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Multi, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Pining, Rating May Change, Religion, Slow Burn, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Newt, aziraphale is baby, because i'm also adhd and can do what i want, because i'm nonbinary and can do what i want, because im an artist and can do what i want, its also dealt with, not brit-picked, trans wensley, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCs_World/pseuds/CCs_World
Summary: Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another.Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.**EDIT AS OF NOVEMBER 8 2020: This fic used to be rated E, but I felt as though I was excluding the minors and the ace folks in the fandom. All E-rated content I had planned for this fic will be moved to the extras and epilogues I have planned for after the main fic is completed.**





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is still VERY MUCH in the works, so it probably won't update for quite a bit as I edit and finish writing. HOWEVER i am just SO excited to publish my first longfic for this fandom! i really hope you guys like it, i've been working on it for a little bit now
> 
> ANYWAY the title is from buddy holly's "everyday" which is just such a sappy song that describes both these idiots perfectly. they really do share one brain cell and love each other a lot. i hope u enjoy!!!!!
> 
> ***edit 1: this first chapter/prologue has been edited slightly for clarity! (Nov 7 2019)***
> 
> ***edit 2: we've officially reached the end of part 1! (Apr 1 2019)***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Fell is warned. Dr Crowley wiles.

“Avoid Dr Crowley,” Dr A. Zira Fell was instructed on his first day at St Beryl’s University (a quaint, small enough university on the outskirts of London, I’m sure you haven’t heard of it) by the dean of the theology and religion department, Dr Gabriel Heavens (an apt name, Dr Fell laughed to himself).

“Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“_ He’s _ a bad egg,” Gabriel sniffed. “Just thought I’d let you know who to look out for.”

“Hm.” Dr Fell made a small face. He wasn’t sure about this. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said uncertainly, then left the office to start setting up his office for the first day of school.

He had brought a _ lot _ of books. Just a small portion of his collection back home, but it still took up the three floor-to-ceiling bookcases he’d installed in his office earlier. The boxes of books were extraordinarily heavy, and he was struggling to get them into his room one box at a time when a voice from behind him drawled, “Need a hand?”

“Oh, oh, yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dr Fell puffed. “I think there are three or four boxes still outside. Once they’re in my office… I’ll be able to get them shelved no problem.”

“Alright.” The voice sounded amused. “Just let me know where your car is and I’ll go fetch one.”

“Oh, let me put this in my office… and then I’ll show you.” Dr Fell put the box down on the floor just inside and turned around.

And saw the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. “Oh,” he said intelligently, then bit his lip. “Ah. Hm. Follow me,” he said, unsuccessfully trying to skim over his moment of complete gay panic.

His savior, a tall dark slip of a thing with red hair and round sunglasses, just smiled sharply and followed quietly behind, hands in their pockets and boots clicking against the linoleum floor. Dr Fell noted the "they/them" pronoun pin affixed to their lapel. “You’re new,” they observed after a moment.

“Obviously,” Dr Fell said before he could stop himself. He did feel ashamed of himself a moment after, and promptly apologized, “So sorry, not sure what came over me.”

“Ah, we all get snippy when we’re stressed and tired.”

“Snippy?” Dr Fell gasped, affronted. “I do _ not _ get _ snippy. _”

“There it is again,” his helper grinned.

Dr Fell got a sneaking suspicion that he was being _ teased. _He squinted at the person striding alongside him, hips swaying like a pendulum, trying to read them. “You can call me Zira. I’m new here,” he said, “part of the theology department.”

“I figured as much,” his companion said mildly, “never seen you around here before.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Couple years. It’s alright. Faculty’s nice enough, and it’s good pay. Used to be part-time but I recently decided to go full.”

“Oh, really? What did you do the rest of the time?”

“Oh, y’know, this and that. A bit of gardening, fashion design, some writing. Painting, occasionally. Still do that stuff, I just don't have as much time for it now.”

“Oh, an artist?” Zira said eagerly. “Do you teach art here?”

“Art history,” they grinned. “Fascinating stuff, or at least I think it is. Many of my students would beg to differ.”

“Oh, I love history!” Zira exclaimed, pushing open the door leading outside and making his way to his car. “How exciting that you get to teach that.”

“What about you?” they asked, watching him with some amusement as he struggled to pick up a box. “What do you do besides teach theology?”

“Well—” Zira managed to pick the thing up. “I very much enjoy reading… as you may have guessed… and I do love to cook, and experience food.”

“Ah, a foodie.” They reached into the trunk and grabbed a box. Somehow, they made it look effortless. Zira’s mouth went a little dry. “I must say I don’t care much about what I eat, only that it’s edible.”

“Well, then, allow me to tempt you to lunch sometime,” Zira smiled, leading the way back inside.

“You don’t need to tempt me. I’d go anyway.”

Zira almost dropped his box. “Ah. Right then.”

It didn’t take long for them to get the last boxes into the room, chatting about themselves and their lives as they worked. When the last box was set down, Zira’s companion asked, “Are you sure you don’t need help shelving?”

“I think I’ll be perfectly alright from here.”

“Great. Right. Well.” They moved to the doorway, suddenly seeming awkward. “I’ll, uh, see you around? Lunch sometime?”

“Yes—yes, lunch sometime would be lovely, I’d love to see you again.”

They grinned behind their sunglasses. “Fantastic. Thursday?” 

“Thursday,” Zira breathed.

“Thursday it is.” And then they were gone.

Zira stared after them for several minutes before he realized that his new friend had completely forgotten to introduce themself. He sighed and, with a faint bemused smile, began to shelve his books in pleasant silence.

* * *

Dr Crowley sauntered down the hall, feeling very pleased with themselves. They had successfully completed one whole social interaction, which should placate their therapist, and now they could go back to their office and do some sketches for the painting they were planning. It was going to be a big one, they decided. Big and loud and colorful. Make it look how their brain sounded all the time, all clanging and banging, fifty tabs of YouTube open at the same time and all blaring different videos at top volume.

Their thoughts kept drifting back to Zira, smiley and a little nervous, all bluster and eager excitement. Bookish, a little nerdy, very old-fashioned, but rather charming and adorable all the same. Now every time they closed their eyes they were going to see that earnest little smile, weren’t they?

How inconvenient.

They pushed open the door to their office and stepped in, flicking on the lamp by the door. The room was dimly-lit enough that they could pull off their sunglasses, and they did so, flinging them carelessly down on their desk before pulling out a worn and battered sketchbook and a 4B drawing pencil that had been sharpened nearly all the way to the end. Taking the instrument carefully between their fingers they hunched over their desk and began to sketch.

What took form on the page was not what they had originally planned on painting. Instead, the pencil sketched out the soft lines of a round face, the crinkles around big eyes, the lines around the smiling mouth, and the puff of pale curls. It shaded in rosy cheeks and etched in the dimples, and added a tartan bowtie and a pair of small round glasses. And then it started again, a nervous smile, a scrunched up pug nose, a closed-eyed laugh, numerous expressions taking shape in the graphite on the page.

Once every moment of their interaction was transferred onto paper, Crowley sat back and really thought about what they had just done. Why the _ hell _had they just sketched 3 full pages of one person’s face?

Sure, he was a fun and interesting subject. Sure, he made fantastic facial expressions. Sure, he had big hazel eyes and a beaming smile and a personality like Crowley had never seen before.

Crowley wanted to keep seeing Dr Fell. They wanted to have more conversations with him. They wanted to be friends with him, and do things with him, and draw him again and again and again.

They got up from their desk and began to pace, their mind whirling as they thought. There was something alluring about Zira, something that drew you in. They didn’t know what it was. They needed more contact, more context, more information to go off of.

The frown on their face deepened as they paced back and forth and back and forth, mind whirling, replaying every second of the conversation they’d had. Zira was pleasant and cheery, if a bit nervous and perhaps a little stuffy. They wanted to be _ friends _ with him. To go places with him, and do things with him. They sure would make an odd duo, the bookish man in tartan and cream and, his stylish, black-clad companion.

They grinned, stopping their pacing, and crossed their arms over their skinny chest. What a pair they would make. An unlikely friendship. The Angel and the Serpent. And they sure could stick it to Dr Heavens. _ Hey, look, Gabe, I stole one of your soldiers of righteousness! _

Their grin widened, sharp and wiley. It was all coming together.


	2. Light and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zira and Crowley implement their own teaching methods. Your favorite characters begin to make appearances. We meet the cranky cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen listen listen i was NOT planning on posting another chapter so soon but i just. i wamna give u guys the Content and i am Very Proud of this particular Content. this chapter contains trigger warnings for homophobic and transphobic language (which is dealt with). i hope u guys like this, i spent a lot of time on it.

The first day of classes was the most chaotic day Zira had ever had. He’d never taught such a large class before, and the printer had run out of ink as he’d been printing the syllabi so he didn’t have a syllabus for every student, and he had no idea how to use the class forums online to upload all the documents they would need onto it, and he couldn’t quite speak loud enough, and he was afraid his students that day got quite the wrong impression of him.

However, his class on Tuesday (THE 225, Ancient Religions) was a lot better as he knew what to expect (and had time to print out more syllabi), and it was a lot smaller anyway. Plus, there were a few delightful students in this class, as he came to find.

“Now,” he said to the twenty or so students in the room, “since there’s so few of us, why don’t we introduce ourselves? And then you can ask me whatever questions you have about myself. I’m new here so you won’t have heard anything of me from your fellow students, so now’s your chance.”

“I’m Pepper,” a girl called from close to the front. She had big eyes and a curly mop of dark natural hair, and she dressed in corduroy and cotton despite it being summer. “My major’s in women and gender studies. My mum gave me a stupid name so you can just call me Pepper, and if I hear anyone calling me Pippin Galadriel Moonchild I’ll break their nose.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Pepper,” Zira said, wringing his hands, “but let’s not go around breaking noses. There are much more pleasant ways of getting people to listen to you, anyway.”

Pepper sat back, a little miffed, and a girl next to her spoke up. “I’m Wensley. Well, technically Wendy Wensleydale, but nobody ever calls me by my first name and that’s okay.” The girl couldn’t have been more than nineteen, but she dressed in a blazer-and-pencil-skirt ensemble and carried herself like a business executive. Her glasses were big and thick and her blouse was slightly rumpled. “I’m a history major.”

“Perfectly splendid to meet you, Wensley. History is such a wonderful area to study.”

“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” another young man piped up from just behind Pepper. He was tall and conventionally attractive, with tousled blond hair and a commanding air about him. He wore large, wire-rimmed glasses and had a hint of scruff around his chin. His voice was loud and clear. “I’m Adam Young. I’m in astrophysics but these guys wanted me to take this class with them. Are we going to be learning about aliens?”

Zira wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to this charismatic young man. “Well, Adam, I’m glad you decided to join this class anyway. We won’t be learning about… aliens, but ancient religion is a fascinating topic nonetheless. We’ll make an historian out of you yet.”

“He says it’s stupid but he actually really likes reading about history,” the unfortunately dirty-looking boy next to Adam said suddenly, and Adam elbowed him sullenly. “Don’t elbow me, you know it’s true,” the boy chided. “I’m Brian. I’m undeclared ‘cause I like so many things.”

Zira smiled at the antics of these four friends. “It’s a pleasure to have all of you in my class,” he said.

The rest of the class introduced themselves with less fanfare, and then Zira opened up the floor to questions. “Is there anything at all you’d like to know about me?” he offered.

“What d’you like to do?” someone asked.

“I’m an avid reader, and I collect books,” Zira said, smiling softly. “Especially old or antique ones. They’re very special to me.”

“Any pets?”

“No, unfortunately. I don’t trust animals around my books.” He smiled wryly. “I’d love to have a cat someday, though.”

“Anyone special in your life?”

Zira faltered for a moment. “No,” he said after a pause, “nobody right now.”

“Are we going to be reading a lot in this class?”

And just like that he was back in his element, back in his comfort zone. “Yes,” he said, “you will have one reading assignment every week. Anything else?”

* * *

Crowley was in their element. "Hello, everyone. My name is Dr Crowley. You will address me as such. My pronouns are they and them. You will use my correct pronouns. This class is Art History A, if you do not belong here I strongly suggest you find where you do belong quite quickly. My office location and hours are on the syllabus, I expect to see all of you at least once in that office.

"You may have heard of me from previous students. I do not fuck around in this class. I expect all of you to attend this class every day unless you are hospitalized or you have an emergency. We will be covering an immense range of time so I expect you to take notes and pay attention. Please ask questions so you're not left behind. Tests will take place once a month. You will be provided with a study guide one week prior, it is up to you if you want to use it. You are allowed to retake a test as many times as you'd like, and grades are not cumulative. I expect you to prepare for class beforehand and contribute to discussions during class. Please do not use phones in my class. You may have a personal computer if you prefer to take notes digitally but I'd really rather you take notes on paper, it's easier to remember what you wrote. If you need accommodations for a disability please let me know.

"Do you have any questions about this class?"

Silence. They smiled. "Perfect. Now, what you’ve all been waiting for: does anyone have any personal questions for me? C’mon, don’t be scared, I don’t bite. Hard.” They grinned sharply.

“What kind of art do you like best?” a girl near the front—dressed thirty years older than she looked, wearing a smart blazer and skirt—asked timidly.

“This kind, actually,” Dr Crowley said, “big fan of the ancient stuff, me. I always look forward to teaching this class. Did my thesis on it.”

The atmosphere relaxed slightly. “Which piece is your favorite?” asked the corduroy-clad girl sitting beside her. She clicked her pen a few times.

“Always loved the code of Hamurabbi,” Dr Crowley mused. “Big ol’ thing inscribed with ancient and terrifying rules in a long-dead language.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“Mean old one-eyed cat.” They rummaged around in their computer and pulled up an image on the projector. A few students “awwed” at the image of the orange tabby. “His name’s Lucifer, he likes to act like a right old dictator. He’s secretly soft for ear scratches, though. Don’t tell him I told you that. I’ve also got a snake, her name’s Lilith. Giant albino python.” There were a few less “awws” about the snake. Dr Crowley felt a bit miffed. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“Are you married?”

“Psh, nah,” Dr Crowley answered. “Never was one for marriage, me."

“Why do you wear sunnies inside?”

“I get migraines from fluorescent lights. Or most lights, really.” _ Or sound. Or air pressure. Or the whims of a cruel deity. _

“What’s your favorite TV show?”

_ “Golden Girls _, hands down.”

“Favorite member of the Fab Five?”

There was silence. Nobody knew if Dr Crowley knew _ Queer Eye, _ or who they would pick.

“Tan France. I redid my whole wardrobe because of him,” Dr Crowley said, and grinned.

The class applauded. Dr Crowley had successfully won them over.

* * *

There was a series of quick knocks on the doorway to Crowley’s office. “C’min,” they said without looking up from their sketchbook, in which they were doodling with watercolors.

“Hi, AJ! Settling in alright for the new semester?”

“Anathema!” Crowley exclaimed, looking up with a grin. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Assumed you’d be busy with all those science-y classes you teach.”

“Light schedule Tuesdays,” she said, stepping in with a smile and a swish of her skirts. Her large glasses framed her face prettily, and she nudged the door closed behind her. “How’re _ you _ doing?”

“Functioning,” Crowley sighed. “Being full-time is a lot more work than part-time, Ana.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

Crowley rubbed their thumb and forefinger together with a wry smile. “Pays better,” they said, “and I get to keep busy.”

Anathema nodded. “I like it, myself. Teaching astronomy, I mean. I get to talk to people about what I like most in the world all day, every day, and do my own research on top of it.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty good, isn’t it? Hey, how’s Newt?”

“Oh, she’s doing wonderfully. She got her gender marker changed recently and she’s over the _ moon _ about it,” Anathema beamed.

Crowley nodded. “Good for her.” They turned back to their watercolor, then, adding another wash of color to their sketch. “I’ve successfully terrified another several classes full of budding art historians. They’ll take me seriously now.”

“I’m sure they would have ta—”

“I can’t take any chances,” Crowley insisted. “If you don’t scare them, they’ll get too comfortable. I can’t have my students getting comfortable. If they get too comfortable they’ll fail.”

“Remember, this is about a basic art history class, not about your own personal history,” Anathema said gently. “Careful not to go too far.”

Crowley sighed again. “Thanks, Ana. You should come by my office for tea sometime soon.”

“Sure, AJ.” Anathema rapped her acrylic-tipped nails on the wood of their desk, gave them a friendly smile, and said, “I’ll see you, AJ,” before exiting the room in a swirl of corduroy and jasmine.

* * *

Zira’s first few days of class went easily enough. Zira didn’t see his friend around, but perhaps it was because they worked in different buildings on opposite sides of the campus. Who Zira _ did _see often was Gabriel, that smug, square-faced asshole of a man. His smile never reached his eyes when he spoke to Zira, asked him how he was handling the workload, if he needed any tips or help. It always felt… belittling. Like Gabriel didn’t actually believe Zira could teach. Like he thought Zira was incompetent, or unintelligent. Zira always felt indignant after their paths crossed.

He reminded Zira of one of his friends from university in his second year. Todd had been a taller, bookish fellow, but strong, and handsome. He’d welcomed Zira into his group, all of them older than Zira, and they had studied together for that entire year. Sure, he’d cracked jokes, and drew Zira in, and asked him for his opinion. But he’d slapped Zira on the back a little too hard, and sometimes he and all his friends went out without inviting Zira along, even though they were all part of the same group, and sometimes Zira could hear his name spoken quietly among them, mixed with laughter, when they thought he wasn’t close enough to hear. And then they’d left.

The leaving was the part Zira was used to.

That old hope, it seemed, of collecting friends and getting to know people and forming a group, had finally returned. All Zira had to do was wait for Thursday, and he could have lunch with his new friend.

Wednesday, it happened. Zira got an email. The small profile icon beside the name depicted his new friend, red hair, sunglasses, and all. It read:

_ Zira, _

_ Still on for lunch tomorrow? Let me know where and what time you’d like to meet. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ Dr AJ Crowley _

“Dr Crowley,” Zira murmured, staring at the short email on his ancient monitor. Dean Heavens’ words rang in his ears: “Avoid Dr Crowley.”

Dr Crowley, who helped bring his books in without being asked. Dr Crowley, who engaged in conversation and seemed interested in what he had to say. Dr Crowley, who smiled and invited him to lunch after they'd just met each other.

“Well, why should I?” Zira thought aloud, rather indignant. “They don’t seem bad at all. And I think I’d much rather decide for myself if they’re at all bad or not, anyway.”

Carefully, he clicked the “reply” button.

_ AJ, _

_ Of course I’m still on for lunch tomorrow! Shall we meet at the cafe down on main street? I’ve heard the sandwiches there are quite scrummy! I’ll be there at half noon. _

_ Yours, _

_ Dr A. Zira Fell _

The reply came back just minutes later, and Zira smiled softly at the eagerness of his friend.

_ Zira, _

_ That sounds fantastic. The stories are true, the cafe has good food. You have good taste. I’ll see you tomorrow at half noon. _

_ And please, call me Crowley. All my friends do. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Crowley _

* * *

Crowley woke up Thursday and immediately realized that there was no way in hell they were going to make it to class or to their noon rendezvous with Zira. As they sat up their vision swam and their stomach turned, and they fell back against the pillows with a soft groan of pain. They knew they had to send an email to their class, and probably to Zira, too, but the thought of looking at a screen made their head throb sickeningly. “Ugh,” they said to nobody in particular, and reached first for their sunglasses and then for their phone, turning the brightness down all the way before opening the app.

Just reading the words made them nauseous, but they managed to send a quick _ Class is cancelled because I’m sick _ to their students, and then a quick, _ Sorry, Zira, but I’m going to have to cancel the lunch meeting today _ before slamming down their phone, drawing the blankets up over their head, and returning to sleep without even taking their pills.

When they woke up later, they still felt like shit but they managed to sit up and shuffle to the bathroom to take their medication, get a glass of water, and scowl at their reflection before slouching back to bed. On the way, Lucifer nearly tripped them up, meowing melodramatically, and they made a wobbly detour to the kitchen to feed him before returning to their bedroom. After a few minutes, Lucifer hopped up on the bed with a _ mrrp _ and settled down by their feet. They reached out to pet him. He swatted them with his paw.

Oh, well.

They felt a little guilty about cancelling on Zira last minute, but they really, really couldn’t do it. Zira was just going to have to deal with it. Surely he’d understand.

* * *

Zira didn’t understand. He’d woken up eager and excited to see Crowley again, and now he was staring at the short, concise email with disbelief and disappointment. How could they promise something and then take it away just like that? Did Crowley just not want to see him? They didn’t even explain themselves, just a casual “sorry” and done. They didn’t even sign the email.

“Sorry, not sorry,” Zira muttered unhappily, and closed out of the email without replying.

His students did not fail to notice that their professor was a little off the whole time he was teaching, and a few of them reached out worriedly after class. “Dr Fell?” Pepper asked, lingering after most of the class had left. Her three friends, of course, remained, watching as she talked to him, but since all four of them seemed to be inseparable anyway, Zira found that he didn’t mind. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, just fine, dear girl.”

“You seem a little unhappy. Did something happen?”

“Oh, well, you know. Sometimes, my dear, people can be disappointing, and you just need to learn to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on without them.”

“O-kay.” Pepper stared at him for a long moment, just long enough for him to get unnerved, and then she waved at him and left, her friends trailing behind. “Feel better, Dr Fell!”

“Quite,” he said weakly, and returned to his office to stare at the email some more and wonder.

_ Perhaps they’re sick, _ he thought. _ Perhaps that’s it. Am I reading into it too much? _

But how could they get sick only a few days into the semester? That rarely, if ever, happened, and even if it did a professor could normally push through.

_ Perhaps they were having a bad hair day. Perhaps they got nervous. Perhaps they decided they’d rather not be seen with me. Maybe someone from their department told them to avoid me like Gabriel did. _

_ Maybe they just don’t like me after all. _

He scowled at the email. “You can’t avoid me forever, Dr Crowley,” he said, and closed the tab.

At 3 o’clock, Zira was sitting in his office picking out a book chapter for his class to read next week when there was a knock on his door. “Yes, come in!” he called out, sitting up and folding his hands in front of him.

“Dr Fell,” Gabriel said, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. “I hope you’ve adjusted alright to the campus.”

“Indeed. It’s very nice here.” Zira smiled, slightly nervous, unsure why the dean was here to see him.

“Great.” Gabriel smiled. It looked weird, too wide for his squarish face. He looked like an asshole. “I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee? The cafe down on main street makes a mean americano.”

“I’d love to,” Zira said. _ Take that, Dr Crowley. _ He smiled back, trying to be pleasant, and stood from his desk. “You’ve been there before, then?”

“All the time,” Gabriel confirmed, waiting for Zira to close up his office. Once that was done they made their way to the cafe, chatting about their classes and sharing small gossip about the faculty.

Once Gabriel was settled with his Americano and Zira had a cup of tea before him, Gabriel leaned forward with a grin. “I do hope you like it here,” he said.

“Oh, I do, very much. I’ve always wanted to teach, and I think my students like my class.”

“Good, good.” He sat back, nursing his coffee. "Everything's… going alright for you, then?"

"It's certainly a bit of an adjustment, but I'm managing just fine, I think." Zira took a sip of his tea.

“That's great to hear, Zira." Gabriel paused, then, for a moment, before continuing, "Have you run across Dr Crowley yet?” He said the name as if it was a bad taste in his mouth. Despite himself, Zira wanted to stand up and defend them.

And in a moment of uncharacteristic decisiveness, he did. “Yes, I have, actually. They were very kind to me. Won’t you tell me what’s so bad about them? I couldn’t see it in the interaction I had with them.”

“Hmm.” Gabriel looked around, then leaned forward as if he was sharing a secret or something scandalous. “He’s decided to live an… _ alternative _ lifestyle,” Gabriel sneered distastefully.

“An… alternative lifestyle?” Zira said, his heart sinking. He had a bad feeling about that phrase.

“Insisting on using plural pronouns and practicing homosexuality,” Gabriel answered, his lip curling. “Don’t know why they allow it here—this is a _ prestigious _ establishment for _ learning." _

Something heavy dropped in Zira’s gut, and his cheeks tinged red with anger. He pointed a finger right in Gabriel's face. “How dare you,” he spit. “How very dare you. You do not have the right to speak about anybody in such away, even if you don’t ‘agree’ with whatever ‘lifestyle’ they decide to live by. I’m sure _ they _ are a delight to people who are not so _ narrow-minded _ and _ limited _ in their perspective.”

Gabriel looked around uncomfortably. “Zira, people are _ staring. _”

“Good, they should. You need to understand that being close-minded and rude has _ consequences. _ Maybe you’ll think twice before insulting someone just because they’re different from you.” Zira stood, pushing back his chair. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to be friends with Dr Crowley _ just to spite you. _”

Then he left, the bell above the door ringing aggressively behind him.

* * *

Crowley slept all day, their curtains and blinds drawn tight, their blankets pulled around their face, plunged into blessed darkness while their head throbbed. Eventually, however, they couldn’t resist the insistent tugging of hunger in their stomach, and so reluctantly they escaped their bed, slid on their glasses, and made their way to the kitchen for something to eat.

They opened the cabinet. Condensed chicken soup was on the menu tonight, and maybe some peppermint tea. It was the only thing they could stomach at the moment, and as they started to heat it on the stove their stomach turned just from smelling it.

“Well, what is it?” they grumbled aloud. “Are you hungry or not?”

When dinner was cooked they took their bowl and their mug of tea and went into their little living area, flicking on one single lamp in the corner so they weren’t eating blind. Then they opened their Libby app, pulled up _ The Count of Monte Cristo _audiobook on it, and hit play. “I don’t think man was meant to attain happiness so easily. Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales whose gates are guarded by dragons: we must fight in order to conquer it,” the narrator said, and Crowley sat back and began to eat and listen.

It was a quiet night, and they nursed their cup of tea after their soup was gone, just enjoying the narrative. They’d never been much for reading, they couldn’t sit still long enough or concentrate well enough to actually retain any of the words they read, but audiobooks. Audiobooks were their saving grace. You could read without reading, with an audiobook. You didn’t have to stare at the page and wait for the words to arrange themselves. You didn’t have to read the same paragraph over and over again. You could sit back and just take in the words, let them wash over you, let someone else tell you what was happening. You could paint while you read, you could go for a jog, you could garden, you could drive.

Audiobooks were for multitaskers, and Crowley was a multitasker.

They’d been diagnosed with ADHD only a few years prior, and as soon as their therapist had given them the diagnosis it had clicked. That explained _ so much. _ Their terrible experiences with reading, with social interaction, with school. Their trouble finishing a project, their memory problems, their fast talking, their year-long obsessions with trivial things.

They were on a low dosage of Adderall, just enough that they could focus to grade papers and sleep through the night and not have mental breakdowns every time they had a conversation with someone. Life was better. It was in no way perfect, but it was better.

Eventually, their migraine and exhaustion got the better of them, and they shut off the audiobook, put their dishes in the sink, fed Lucifer and Lilith, and went to bed. They slept well that night.

* * *

Zira, on the other hand, did not sleep well, and in fact had a miserable evening. First he got stuck in traffic on the way home, and it took him an extra half hour to even get back to his house. Then, he burned dinner and had to order in Chinese, and it was greasy and disgusting and he couldn’t even eat it. Then he spent twenty minutes feeling forlorn while staring at Crowley’s email. And _ then _ he went to bed and laid awake staring at the ceiling while feeling sorry for himself and replaying his conversation with Gabriel for a few hours before he finally sank into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank u to @anonlynymous on tumblr for listening to my yellin. u can find me @morosexual-aziraphale on tumblr! comments make me smile real big so be a sweetheart and make my day!


	3. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zira and Crowley make up. Crowley paints a picture. The cranky cat is a pain. Crowley acquires a new skill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! im so glad this fic's been received well so far, thank u guys so much for givin me that sweet sweet validation. i've got the next 3-4 chapters written up and i'm so excited for where this is gonna go!!!! i hope u guys love these idiots as much as i do. this chapter is REALLY LONG so just. hang in there folks. i promise u guys will like it.
> 
> also i am So Tired folks. it's been a hell of a month and we're barely halfway through. but im still writing!!!! im hoping to have another chapter out next week, probably thursday, but since thanksgiving break is coming up im not sure how much time i'll have to edit before then bc my college profs are MANIC about deadlines lmao. shits crazy.

Crowley woke up feeling refreshed and well, much better than the day previously. Unfortunately, they also woke up feeling immensely guilty for cancelling on Zira without so much as an explanation. In their defense, they’d been pretty out of it at the time.

The first thing they did was shoot off an apologetic email to Zira:

_ Dear Zira, _

_ I’m so sorry for the way I cancelled our lunch yesterday, I was very unwell and unable to clearly communicate. I’d very much like to apologize in person today, and perhaps to make it up to you with dinner tonight? _

_ Best, _

_ Crowley _

Then they rolled out of bed and took a long, hot shower, washing all the sick-sweat off their body and scrubbing their long red hair until it shone. They dressed up in their favorite red jeans, black t-shirt with a leather jacket, and doc martens, braided back their hair, and even swiped on some lipstick. By God they were going to feel good about themselves today, donning their fashion as armor for full effect.

They fed Lucifer and Lilith, grabbed an apple from a basket on the windowsill, picked up their bag from its spot by the door, patted their pockets six times to be sure they had their keys and their phone, and then left their cottage and hopped into their car, a sleek black sports car which was their pride and joy (and which had cost them a small fortune). They drove to campus with Queen blaring, psyching themselves up to check their email as soon as they arrived.

They were not disappointed. As soon as they parked they checked their phone and found a new email from Zira.

_ My dear Crowley, _

_ Of course you are forgiven. I am afraid I thought little of you yesterday, and I myself must apologize for assuming something that was not true. Come see me in my office as soon as you arrive. Also, dinner tonight sounds wonderful! I know a great place we can go. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Zira _

Crowley grinned and got out of their car, making a beeline for Zira’s office. They knocked on the door, and the cheery “Come in!” they received made their grin grow.

“Hi, Zira,” Crowley said, pushing the door open, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“On the contrary, I was just waiting for you,” Zira said, smiling softly. “Please sit down.”

Crowley did so. “Look,” they said, “I’m really sorry about how I handled things yesterday. I should have just explained myself.”

“Nonsense. You were ill, I understand completely. And I should apologize, too. I’m afraid I made some incorrect and rather mean-spirited assumptions about you in the midst of my disappointment and confusion, and I should not have jumped to conclusions. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course,” Crowley murmured, “of course I forgive you, Zira.”

“Good,” Zira said, gaze falling to the side, his cheeks a fetching pink. “I’m glad that’s been taken care of.”

“Right.” There was a brief silence. “So. Um. Dinner tonight?”

“Yes! Yes, dinner,” Zira said, seeming glad for the subject change. “I know someplace nice we can go. It’s not too expensive but the cuisine is to die for.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it’s a Greek place, it’s very quaint. They have excellent falafel.” Zira seemed excited about the prospect of food. It was adorable.

“Tell me more,” Crowley said, and was surprised to find that they were sincere about it. Honestly, they just wanted to listen to Zira talk forever.

“Oh, I will, my dear, if you don’t stop me,” Zira grinned. “Have you eaten Greek before?”

“Once or twice. A gyro here and there.”

“Oh, their gyros are splendid,” Zira gushed. “Their tzatziki sauce is homemade right there in the kitchen, and the blend of spices they use on the lamb is exquisite. I’ve never had a gyro quite like it before. And their pita bread is fresh baked that morning! Oh, it’s excellent, so aromatic and fresh.”

“You really like food,” Crowley realized.

“Didn’t I tell you when we first met? I’m quite the food lover.” Zira looked a little embarrassed.

“I wasn’t sure how extensive it was. Now I know,” Crowley laughed. “It’s not a problem, Zira, I like hearing you talk about things you like. You can make it up to me by listening to me gush about art tonight at dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful, Crowley,” Zira smiled, and Crowley felt something inside themselves soften. Maybe it was the way Zira said their name, maybe it was just the way he validated their interests and seemed genuinely happy to talk about it. Either way, it made Crowley feel a little warm inside.

“You say that now,” Crowley joked. “I’m notorious for my long-winded speeches. I predict you’ll be bored out of your skull by the end of it.”

“And I predict that I shall love every moment,” Zira declared.

“Well, then, we’ll just have to see who’s right,” Crowley laughed. “I’ll see you tonight, Zira.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” Zira waved at Crowley as they left his office, and Crowley practically skipped all the way to the arts building.

* * *

Zira was so very excited. He had awakened that morning to an email from Crowley and, nervously, he’d opened it. And how could he not forgive them for such a sincere apology? He immediately felt awful for assuming that Crowley could ever do anything malicious in their life, and felt the urge to apologize right back. So he did.

And now he was going to be going to dinner with Dr Crowley! He almost couldn’t believe it: he had a friend!

He went through his classes with a chipper attitude that starkly contrasted his melancholy of the day before, though luckily he didn’t have the same students today as yesterday, so nobody was any the wiser. He didn’t even assign any homework, he was so happy.

After teaching he went straight home, nearly locking his keys in his office in his haste to leave. But he got home despite his flustered state, leaving himself ample time to get ready.

He accurately predicted a two-hour panic over what waistcoat to wear out. In the end, he chose a soft beige one with pink undertones, one that was older and one of his favorites, and paired it with an ivory shirt, light brown trousers, and a blue paisley bow tie. He considered wearing a jacket over it, but he didn’t want to be overdressed. It wasn’t a very fancy restaurant, after all.

He headed out at a quarter to seven, and made it to the restaurant right at seven. He waited in the foyer for Crowley to show up, and they did not disappoint, pulling up five minutes later in a sleek black sports car. They sat there for a moment before they got out and sauntered inside. “Hi, Zira,” Crowley grinned. They wore a red waistcoat that had a subtle luster to it over a black-and white pinstriped shirt, paired with grey jeans and snakeskin boots. It was, as the kids said these days, a  _ look. _

“Good evening, Crowley, you certainly look nice.”

“Well,” Crowley said, their head turning slightly as if they were avoiding looking Zira in the face, “I always look nice.”

“I can’t exactly argue with that,” Zira said, unsure how else he was supposed to respond.

“Yeah, well. Yeah.” The atmosphere was awkward. They pushed up their sunglasses even though they weren’t slipping.

They were saved by a hostess coming up and saying, “I can seat you now, if you’ll follow me,” and the pair, relieved, followed her to a two-person table near the kitchen. “Your server will be here shortly,” she said as they sat, and then they waited.

“Do you drink?” Zira asked, picking up the menu.

“Sometimes. I shouldn’t tonight, though, seeing as I drove.” Crowley looked at their own menu. “And alcohol sometimes messes with my medication anyway.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Zira nodded. “I personally was going to have some wine, but I will refrain from drinking this evening. So as not to make you feel left out.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel left out at all, angel,” Crowley said, and then immediately clapped a hand over their mouth. Zira watched them turn red up to the tips of their ears.

“Angel?” he asked, amused.

“Um. It’s only that. Sometimes you look like one of those Renaissance paintings. You know the ones. Cherubs and soft faces and the like.” Crowley looked mortified. “I’m sorry, I won’t—”

“No, please do,” Zira smiled, “I’ve never had a nickname before. Other than, of course, people calling me by my middle name. But that doesn’t count. By all means, call me whatever you’d like, Crowley.”

“Right,” they muttered, and buried their nose in the menu, elegant fingers tapping on the table and one long leg shaking with pent-up energy.

Their server came by to take their order, and Crowley looked up desperately at Zira. “I don’t know what to get,” they hissed, “I don’t know what’s good here.”

“I,” Zira said, “will have a lamb gyros. And my friend will get the spanakopita. Oh, and just water for the both of us, please. Do you like spinach, Crowley?”

“Well enough,” they said.

“Lovely,” Zira said, and smiled at the waitress, who smiled back.

“Good choices, Dr Fell,” she said, and stepped away to give their orders to the kitchen.

“A lovely girl,” Zira commented, “she serves me nearly every time I come here. She loves  _ Wuthering Heights. _ And  _ Hamlet. _ ”

“Ugh,” Crowley said, “ _ Hamlet _ . I don’t like the sad ones.”

“Well, then, which one do you like?”

“ _ Much Ado About Nothing, _ ” they declared. “Benedick speaks to my soul.”

“Oh, you like the funny ones,” Zira grinned. “My favorite of his comedies has to be  _ The Taming of the Shrew. _ Had me in stitches the first time I saw it performed.”

“I listened to that one as an audio drama,” Crowley said, not mentioning that they listened to everything as an audio drama. “It’s very funny. Still like  _ Much Ado _ better, though. Benedick and Beatrice hate each other but they also love each other. I can’t get over it.”

“All of Shakespeare’s plays have their charm,” Zira commented. “Even the tragedies.”

“I see no  _ charm  _ in killing off every character just to make a point. Feels too much like shock value to me.” Crowley shook their head, and their leg began to bounce in earnest under the table. “I’ve listened to  _ Hamlet, _ just because I felt like I had to, but I don’t have much interest in character death. Especially Ophelia. She didn’t deserve that.”

“I agree, Ophelia rather got the short end of the stick, didn’t she?”

“She  _ did! _ Shakespeare didn’t have to go there, he really didn’t!”

Zira couldn’t see behind Crowley’s glasses (why did they wear them, anyway?), but if he could, he imagined there would be light and life in those hidden eyes, energy and passion. He wished he could see it, but since he couldn’t, he could imagine and encourage. “But he did, Crowley, and that’s what makes a tragedy a tragedy. It’s a sad story for a  _ reason. _ Each death has meaning and symbolism, the death of every character has a purpose and an impact, both on the story and on the viewer. The whole  _ purpose _ of death in  _ Hamlet _ is a memento mori, a reminder of the inevitability of death. Not to mention Hamlet’s morbid obsession with death throughout the play. He speaks of death so flippantly, so curiously, it’s no wonder he and everyone he knows dies. It’s the consequences of his obsession with death and his desire for revenge.”

Crowley stared, a faint smile on their face. “How are you not a literature teacher, angel?” they asked in wonder.

“Oh, I could never have fun teaching literature over and over, I would get tired of it!” Zira exclaimed. “It’s much better to have it as a hobby than a job, that way it will stay fun forever. It’s easier to enjoy something if you’re not trying to make money off of it.”

Crowley shook their head, lips curled in a bemused smile. “I’ve never met anyone like you, angel,” they said.

“Nor I you,” Zira grinned. “You make such delightful conversation.”

"Ah, I just like to talk. Say whatever's in my head. I'm not actually too great at social interaction," they said dismissively. Oh, if their therapist could see them now.

"Nonsense, you're doing splendidly," Zira gushed. "I enjoy every conversation I have with you."

Crowley ducked their head, seemingly embarrassed. "C'mon, angel," they protested weakly, "you've hardly talked to me."

"Then I shall have to remedy that," Zira declared. "We must meet for lunch more often.” He hesitated then, just for a moment, and to anyone watching—including Crowley—it seemed as if he was steeling himself. “If you’d like to, of course. I’m certainly not saying we must, especially if you don’t want to. I was only thinking, well… that I’d like to be friends with you, Crowley, proper ones, and I’d like to see you and get to know you as often as I can. It can be a sort of routine."

"A routine," Crowley echoed softly, and looked up again. They were smiling, and it was… different. Softer and warmer than their usual sharp grin. Zira wanted to see that smile all the time. It quickly disappeared, though, as Crowley quickly rebuilt whatever wall had just fallen down. "I mean, if you’re so excited about this, then sure, angel. It’s whatever.”

Zira’s nose scrunched up as he smiled. “Oh, how fun. I’m very excited to talk more with you, Crowley. I’ve never had such an interesting conversation about  _ Hamlet _ with someone before.”

“Neither have I,” Crowley admitted, grinning. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation about  _ Hamlet _ with  _ anyone _ before.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve provided you with a new experience!”

“Two, actually, I’ve never been to a real Greek restaurant before, or even eaten spanakopita.”

Zira blinked. “Really? Where do you usually go? What do you typically eat?”

Crowley shrugged. “I told you before. I don’t really pay much attention to what I eat, outside of nutrition, anyway. Mostly just whatever I can afford. Starving artist, y’know.”

“Oh, well, Crowley, my dear! You  _ must _ let me treat you more often. I know a  _ fantastic _ sushi place we could visit, or this darling little Italian place. Or, oh, do you like chips? There’s a place near my home with the best chips.”

“You really don’t have to, angel, I’m perfectly fine eating what I’ve always been eating.”

“But there’s no  _ fun _ in that, Crowley. You need  _ variety _ in your life. New experiences.  _ Inspiration. _ ”

Crowley bit their lower lip. “Well,” they said, pretending to think. “If you think it’ll  _ inspire _ me I think it’ll be alright.”

Zira opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by dinner being served. “Oh, this looks scrummy!” he exclaimed as his gyros was set in front of him. “How delightful. Thank you,” he said to the waitress.

Crowley waited until Zira had taken his first bite, a delighted, closed-eyed smile spreading across his face as the food crossed his tongue, and then they warily tried their own meal. Chewed. Swallowed. “Huh,” they said. “This is actually good.”

Zira beamed. Crowley fought the urge to shield their eyes. The man across from them could’ve had a  _ halo. _ “I’m so glad you like it,” he gushed.

“Didn’t think I would,” they muttered. “Never been much for spinach.”

“But you told me you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” they said quickly, “I actually like this. So. It doesn’t matter.”

Zira hesitated, then smiled again, less bright but no less joyful. “Well. I’m glad,” he reiterated, then, “So, er. You seem to be well-read?”

Crowley laughed. “I guess you could call it that. I’m not sure that a lot of the books I read you would consider  _ literature _ or anything of the sort. But I’m in the middle of  _ The Count of Monte Cristo  _ right now, so maybe you’ll like me for now.”

“I could never dislike you over the books you read,” Zira protested. “Every book has at least some good in it, some perception of humanity and the world, of the universe, that can be seen and appreciated, no matter how terrible the rest of the writing is.  _ The Count _ is very good, however. How are you enjoying it?”

“Well, it’s not funny,” Crowley said, and popped another forkful of spanakopita into their mouth. “It’s classified as an adventure novel but it’s pretty dry. There sure is a lot of revenge and suicide, too. I’m considering giving up on it.”

“Oh, don’t,” Zira exclaimed. “It truly is a good book, once you get past some of the darkness and tragedy, and exceedingly long-winded descriptions. Plus, it was a subtle commentary on the corruptness of the French judicial and political worlds. You’re getting a glimpse into history, Crowley. Do try to finish it before you judge it.”

Crowley stared at him, or at least Zira assumed they were staring. It really was hard to tell with those sunglasses in the way. “Alright, angel,” they said after a long moment. “Alright, I’ll finish it. Soon as I can, I’d like to re-li—uh, re-read the Chronicles of Narnia series.”

“Ah, C.S. Lewis,” Zira sighed, his face lighting up. “I very much enjoy the Chronicles of Narnia, though none of the other books even came close to  _ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. _ Do you know, that’s one of the few stories where I actually enjoyed the film adaptation as much as the original book?”

“No, really?”

“Yes, really,” Zira grinned. “I’m incredibly picky when it comes to cinematic reinterpretations, but that one was done right.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, grin mirroring Zira’s.

Zira took a drink of his water and another bite of his gyros before saying, “Well, my dear, we have talked extensively of my interests, but not much of yours. Do tell me about what you like.”

Crowley mouthed at open air for a moment before seeming to figure out what they wanted to say. “Well. I like art, mostly. You know I’m an art history professor?”

“I do believe you have mentioned that before. What period of history is your favorite?”

“Oh, the ancient stuff, to be sure. Cave paintings, Akkadia, Mesopotamia—I love the mystery behind the creation, the speculation about the lives of these millenia-year-old civilizations. You don’t know who created any of the pieces, only that they were deliberately created for some purpose," they explained, gesticulating excitedly. "You don’t know what the purpose was, only some vague context left behind in other artworks or written recordings of what was happening in the world at the time. You don’t know much of what was happening at the time. Everything is shrouded in the death of time, angel, and we historians bring that time back to  _ life. _ ”

“Oh,  _ Crowley, _ ” Zira breathed. “Oh, I feel much the same. I love history so very much, although it’s more recent history, comparatively. Do go on, what else do you enjoy?”

“Well, I paint, as well,” Crowley said. “Any range of styles, really, it all depends on the message of the piece and where my mind is located when I’m painting. I like to do a lot of symbolic paintings about mental health, and I do a lot of self-portraits as well.”

“Well, that’s fascinating! I would love to see what you can create.”

“Hold on, I have ‘em on my phone,” Crowley said, already bringing it out. They opened their gallery and slid the phone across the table. “Here, you can swipe through.”

Zira did. “Oh,  _ Crowley, _ ” he said again. “Oh, Crowley, these are… I’ve never seen art quite like this.”

“Ah, I’m sure you have,” Crowley mumbled, turning their head away slightly. “No art is fully unique.”

“Even so, everyone adds their own elements and visions,” Zira countered gently. “The way you mix abstraction and realism together, for example. I know other artists who do similar things but you’ve certainly made it your own. I can’t fully compare your work to others’.”

Crowley ducked their head, as if they were trying to hide their face. “‘S very nice of you, Zira,” they managed. “I think I did that one in acrylics. Normally I’m more comfortable with oils but this one needed faster-drying paint.”

“I see,” Zira said, though he did not see. He had no idea what the difference was. “In any case,” he continued, handing the phone back, “I thoroughly enjoy your art, and would love to see more should you decide to share it with me.”

“Well, uh.” Crowley tapped a few times on their phone screen before sliding it back over. “If you give me your number, I can share it with you more often.”

The look on Zira’s face was worth the split second of anxiety. “Oh,  _ Crowley,” _ he gushed for the third time that evening, “I would  _ love _ to.” He punched in his number slowly, like he’d never used a mobile phone before (he owned a mobile, he was just anxious about entering the wrong number), and handed it back. “Thank you,” he beamed.

“Stop doing that thing with your face,” Crowley muttered.

Zira’s shining smile fell. “What thing?” he asked.

“The—the smiling thing,” Crowley grumbled. “How do you make it so  _ bright?” _

"I… don't?" Zira looked terribly confused. "I'm just smiling, Crowley, really. No need to be so dramatic."

"Hmn," Crowley mumbled, and returned to eating their dinner instead of replying, thoroughly embarrassed.

There was a rather awkward silence except for the murmur of other customers around them and the clinking of silverware on dishes, and then Zira spoke up once more. “I do believe you mentioned you also garden?”

“Oh? Oh, yeah, that’s right. I garden,” Crowley said, perking up a little at that. “Got a big garden at home.”

“What sorts of things do you grow?”

“Well, you know, a bit of this and that. Got some rose bushes, they’re in full bloom right now. Gardenias, orchids, bleeding hearts. Sweet peas. Arum lilies. Also got some indoor plants. Spider plants, rubber trees, succulents, the like.” Crowley was grinning again, gesturing with their hands. “My garden configuration is different every year,” they continued, “I always add new and different plants to the place. The neighbors love it, the couple down the lane always compliments my roses. ‘S mostly old people in the countryside, especially in Sussex, ‘n they’re much better to talk with if you ask my opinion.”

“That they are,” Zira couldn’t help but agree. “I’ve always loved the appeal of the countryside, but I must say I am perfectly content living where I am in the city. My home is close enough to the university that I can take public transport instead of driving, and it’s just close enough to the sea and the South Downs that it’s not terribly difficult to get a nice countryside getaway if I’d like to. When I moved here at the start of summer to begin work at the university, I was  _ delighted  _ at the placement of my flat and promptly spoke to the landlord, and none of its charm has at all faded.”

“Ah, the city’s too loud ‘n crowded for me to be living there,” Crowley said. “I  _ like _ the city—all the diversity and the artwork and the fashion and the architecture, y’know—but I really couldn’t live there. Besides, you can’t see the stars from the city.”

“Do you stargaze?”

“All the time. I own a telescope—nothing fancy, just a small one for looking at planets and nebulae. Have you ever seen the Orion nebula through a telescope?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen it at all.”

“Really? No, you must’ve, you probably just didn’t know what it was. You can see it on a dark enough night with your bare eyes. Right where Orion’s sword is, it’s this big bright glob. Looks like a star if you don’t know what you’re looking at. It looks even better through a telescope—it’s pink!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about stars,” Zira mused.

“I know  _ too _ much, angel,” Crowley grinned. “Used to want to be an astronomer, back before I realized that I was dreadful at science and maths.”

“I think that art suits you better, anyway,” Zira said, and finished off his gyros.

Once they were done eating, the waitress brought the cheque. There was a brief squabble over who would cover it, and Zira eventually won. “Really, dear, allow me,” he said gently, and Crowley had sighed and pouted but released the cheque to Zira without further argument.

Dinner finished and bill paid, the pair left the establishment together, chatting quietly about their weekend plans. “I think I’m going to stay home and sleep til noon tomorrow,” Crowley said, “and then I think I’ll paint.”

“Oh, do send me pictures when you’re finished,” Zira pled.

“Course I will,” Crowley grinned. “Maybe I’ll even send you pictures while it’s still in progress.”

Zira looked a little starry-eyed as Crowley made their way to their car. “Oh, would you?” he said. “I’d like that very much.”

“Then I’ll do that,” Crowley said, and swung the car door open. “I’ll see you Monday, angel?”

“Oh—of course, Crowley,” Zira said. “Good night, and do be safe on your way home.”

“Good night, angel.” Crowley shut the door and started the engine, and with one last wave from the windshield they drove away.

Zira felt warm the entire tube ride home.

* * *

Crowley, true to their word, woke up at noon Saturday. They laid in bed for another half an hour, scrolling through their phone and absently hate-liking Professor Dru Hastur’s Instagram posts, before they finally rolled out of their blankets, ate a protein bar, and showered. Lucifer screamed until they fed him, and he didn't even thank them with a head-butt or a bite on the ankle, ungrateful bastard.

Routine complete, they threw on their sunglasses and painting clothes (a baggy, paint-splattered button-up and ancient jeans with holes in the knees) and entered their studio.

They just stood there for a moment, admiring the way the sunlight fell across the canvases leaning against every table and easel, then filled a Ball jar with water, assembled their tools, turned on a  _ Best of Queen  _ album, and got to work stretching a canvas. Hammering a staple into the wood frame was cathartic, and although they just wanted to pound it in, they knew they could damage the wood, the staple, or the canvas, so they took it slow. “I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me,” they sang. Lucifer, who at some point had managed to sneak into the studio, yowled at Freddie's high note, and Crowley, startled, almost hammered their thumb. “Fuck!”

As soon as they finished stretching the canvas, they advanced on the bothersome feline, who hissed theatrically and batted at their hands until they picked him up under his arms and returned him, struggling all the way, to the sitting room. He got one last swipe in after they set him down, and Crowley ruffled his ears in revenge.

Cat removed, they gessoed the canvas, loving the feeling of the paint gliding onto the canvas from their brush. Then they grabbed their phone, took a photo of their already white-smudged hand holding the brush in front of the canvas, and sent it to Zira.  **Gonna Bob Ross this bitch,** they texted Zira, then added, to clarify,  **His wet-on-wet technique.** While the gesso was still wet they grabbed their oil paint and began filling their pallet with colors. Just the act of smearing paint from the tube onto their pallet was relaxing, and they grinned, excited. This painting was going to be  _ special. _ It was going to be  _ big. _ It was going to be a  _ conversation piece. _

Their phone chimed.

_ Painting is an awfully messy business, isn’t it? _

They grinned.

**Yeah but I like it that way. Feels real**

They grabbed a smaller brush and began to sketch in their design in navy blue oil, glancing at their paint-streaked, pencil-smudged sketchbook every now and then to see their thumbnail designs. They knew that in the end, the painting would not look very much like the thumbnails at all, but that was the point, really. The thumbnail was just a starter, the real painting had meat on the bones.

Ding!

_ I’ve never heard that before. I like it. _

**Thanks, angel, came up with it myself.**

Design sketched, they snapped another photo and sent it.  **Just the bare bones of the piece, but I thought you’d like to see the concept before the color**

Ding!

_ It looks wonderful already, Crowley.  _ =)

**Thanks, angel.**

They returned to work, filling in the sketch with globs of color, blocking in the shadows and highlights bit by bit. The palette was dominated with greens and blues, blocks of pthalo and peacock and forest laying out the base for a jaw, a cheek, a nose, a neck. “Bohemian Rhapsody” finished, and “Killer Queen” began. Crowley hummed along.

The brush moved deftly through the still-wet white paint on the canvas, leaving in its wake tumbling grass-green hair falling about a shoulder, a cheekbone. It carved out shadows in the wavy locks, added a cleft to the chin, a divot for a collarbone, the crease in a furrowed brow. Crowley snapped another picture.

**I can only draw myself, I think.**

_ It looks fantastic, Crowley! _

**Still not done yet.**

They resumed painting, singing along to “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” as they defined the shapes and began highlighting cheek and eye and lip and nose in startling yellow. The same yellow became triangles in the background, alternated with navy blue. The sharp contrast between hard geometry and soft impressionistic realism was their trademark, and they were going to stick to it.

Another picture was sent to Zira.  **Almost done. What do you think, angel?**

_ I think it looks marvelous. What do you have left to do? _

**A few finishing touches**

Crowley grabbed a clean brush, dragged it through the glob of red on their palette, and then stood back, eyeing the piece, not actually applying the color yet. “Hmm,” they said aloud. They knew what they wanted, just not how best to go about it.

Carefully, then, they dragged the brush diagonally down the canvas, drawing a thick red line from the top of the canvas down across the right eye, vanishing off the right side of the canvas. The left eye was left untouched, wide open, starkly highlighted in bright yellow against the dense shadow of the socket below the frowning brow. A few more red lines, shorter, tapering into sharp points, seemed to pierce the forehead of the portrait. Crowley stepped back once more, eyeing the piece critically, before picking up a brush and touching up a few details. They carefully realigned the jaw, deepened the shadow around the eye, lengthened the nose just slightly, and highlighted a few loose strands of hair before stepping back one final time.

They made a little fist-pumping motion. “Fuck yeah,” they muttered.

They glanced at their phone. “What the f—it’s  _ already half six?” _

**Look angel it’s finished!!!** Crowley texted, attaching a picture of the finished painting.  **This took a lot longer than I thought it would. I was hoping to start another one, but I should eat dinner.**

_ Oh Crowley, I love that very much. Do eat something, though. _

Crowley grinned at their phone.  **I’m covered in paint, head to toe angel, you wouldn’t believe.**

_ I’m not surprised, actually. _

**Are you saying I’m messy?**

_ No, just care-free. And energetic _

**That I am, angel, that I am. ** They smiled at their phone again before pocketing it and heading for the kitchen. They fed Lucifer, who was still sulking, then grabbed a packet of toaster pastries and a glass of milk, then headed for the sitting room.

Two hours later, they were on the couch finishing up the third James Bond movie (Goldfinger) when their phone chimed. Of course it was Zira.

_ What did you eat for dinner? I had some fresh bread from one of my neighbours, and the most delicious vegetable soup, one of my aunts’ old recipes, I’m sure you’d like it. _

**Couple a pop tarts and some milk. Yum yum**

_ Crowley!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  _ >:(  _ That is NOT real food. You need to eat something of substance! _

**Pop tarts have substance. Made of carbs.****  
** **Milk has substance. Calcium and fat.**

_ Where are the vegetables??? The proteins???? Crowley you need to take better care of yourself why aren’t you eating a full meal _

**Don’t have anything in the house.**

_ Oh come now, we both know that’s not true. I’m certain you have basic ingredients _

**Hhhhhh do I have to?????**

_ Crowley please _

**Ugh****  
** **Fine. But just know that I can’t and don’t cook so if this is a disaster it’s your fault**

_ I accept this. Now what do you have in your kitchen? _

**Lots of tinned stuff, mostly. Tinned veg and condensed soups. ****  
** **I’ve got bread and cheese too, and fresh tomatoes from my garden that I can never figure out how to use except in salads. Butter. Half a dozen fresh eggs from Rhoda a street over.**

_ Alright, I can work with this. What sorts of soups? _

**Tomato, chicken noodle, beef veg, cream of mushroom**

_ You could have tomato soup and toasted cheese? _

**…**

**Why didn’t I think of that?**

_ It’s alright, just make sure to eat. Can you make a toasted cheese? _

**It’s been a while. You may have to remind me.**

Ugh, that was embarrassing.

However, Zira seemed glad to help instruct Crowley on how to make the perfect toasted cheese sandwich, and the tomato soup heated on the stove (with added seasonings courtesy Zira’s suggestion) while Crowley painstakingly followed each of Zira’s instructions to the letter. They ended up with a slightly charred but still edible (and frankly pretty delicious) toasted cheese sandwich, and a bowl of not-bland actually-good tomato soup. It didn’t even taste tinned.

**This is****  
** **Really good.****  
** **Cooking isn’t that hard actually**

_ I know, I told you. _

**Never say “I told you so” to me again because you’re implying that I was wrong**

_ Maybe you WERE wrong. _

**Impossible.**

There was a long string of laughing emojis from Zira.

**Hey!**

_ Oh, I’m sorry, my dear, I thought you were telling a joke. _

**Bastard.**

_ Don’t give me that. I know you’re grinning. _

Did he really have to call them out like that?

**Lies.**

_ I never lie. _

**Oh, how could I forget, you’re an angel**

_ That I am! _

**You’re ridiculous.**

_ So are you, Mx I Think Toaster Pastries Are A Balanced Meal. _

**You’re never gonna let that go, are you?**

_ No, I don’t think I will. _

**I take it back, I don’t wanna be friends with you**

They got no response from that one. For several minutes. In fact, it was enough time for them to finish eating, put their dishes in the sink, brush their teeth, put on pyjamas, feed Lucifer and Lilith, and climb into bed. There was still no response from Zira.

**I didn’t mean that, you know**

_ That was a test. _

**Sure, angel.**

_ Don't "sure, angel" me. _

**I do what I want. You can't stop me**

_ You just keep believing that, dear. _

**I will, see if I don't.**

_ Very threatening. _

**Thanks, I've been practicing on my plants.**

_ Do I want to know what that means? _

**Read in an old 1970s magazine that you should talk to your plants.**

_ What does that have to do with threats _

_ ??????? _

**Well I maybe yell at them a little bit when I'm mad. Better than yelling at people.**

**Plus it seems to yield results.**

_ Do you just yell "grow better" at them and then take care of them normally? _

**Oh angel, you know me so well already.**

_ I just know how to call you out on your… what do people say? Bull shit? _

**Oooooh, such language, not much of an angel now.**

_ If I recall correctly, you're the one who came up with the nickname. _

**I can stop using it.**

_ No _

_ I mean _

**You liiiiiiike it**

_ Don't tease! _

**You like when I call you aaaaangel~**

_ Oh, stop it!! _

**I'll do no such thing, angel.**

_ … _

_ Right _

_ Jolly good _

_ Tickety-boo _

**"Tickety-boo" ???????????????????**

**You sound like an old man**

_ Maybe that's because I am, old chap _

_ Chap???? _

_ Is that gender-neutral _

**It's fine, angel.**

_ Only if you're certain. Let me know if I make you uncomfortable, I would hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort _

**That's very kind of you, angel. Thanks**

_ It's no trouble at all. _

**Yeah?**

_ Absolutely. _

**Great. Good. Fantastic.**

_ You seem tired. It's quite late, shouldn't you be getting to bed? _

**Got nowhere to be tomorrow, I can stay up as long as I like.**

_ Crowleyyyyy. _

**Whaaaaaaaaat.**

_ Take care of yourself!!!! _

**I do take care of myself.**

_ Why do I not believe you _

**Because I'm a compulsive and chronic liar with bad habits?**

_ Ah, that would be it. _

**Funny.**

_ Hey, you said it. _

**…**

**…**

**…**

_ You seem to have fallen asleep. Good night, Crowley, and I do hope you remembered to plug your mobile in. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i hear a WAHOO for friendship? i rly liked writing the Great Hamlet Debate, i have a lot of Feelings about shakespeare. im really using this fic to expose my nerdy adhd ass huh. all my special interests right out in the open lmao. ANYWHO if u guys have any characters u wanna see more of just drop em in the comments! im trying to squeeze as many cameos as possible into this fic.
> 
> anyway be a cutie, leave a comment, share this fic around if u like it, and i'll see u guys next week!


	4. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week goes by. Crowley and Zira follow through with their arrangement all week, Gabriel is a dick, and Crowley grades some papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo! i wasnt gonna update this so soon but when ur depresso u crave that validation ya know. also i like this chapter a Lot so i wanted to post it.  
warning for this chapter: gabe is a dick and the f-slur is used towards crowley, along with a lil bit of trans/homophobia. dont use slurs kids (unless u reclaim them as part of ur identity, like crowley and zira do with queer!).

Monday came with all the grace of a toad being hit by a semi. Sunday had mostly been spent last-minutely coming up with what Crowley was going to be teaching that week, frantically finishing slide shows, and downloading worksheets. Now, they were tired, and stressed, and they'd slept late, and now they didn't have time for coffee. They just barely remembered to take their medication before they bustled out the door, walked back in, grabbed their keys from the table, and left.

They were just barely on time to teach their first class, which wouldn’t have been terrible but they had  _ papers _ to hand out and  _ slides _ to flip through and  _ not enough time to set up _ . If only they hadn’t procrastinated. If only they’d remembered to set their alarm. If only, if only, if only.

They were sitting in their office after their first class when their mobile chimed cheerfully.

Crowley sighed and reached for their phone, unlocking it lazily. When they saw it was a text from Zira, they opened the messaging app immediately.

_ Still on for lunch today? _

**Of course. Cafe on main street?**

_ Sounds lovely. Half noon? _

**Perfect. See you then :)**

_ Until then  _ =)

Of course, after the short conversation the time just  _ dragged _ by. By the time the clocks struck noon Crowley felt as though they had aged ten years. Fortunately, though, they had a few hours free of classes to go enjoy some time with Zira. So they shoved their mobile into their back pocket and grabbed their bag with their wallet, keys, and sketchbook, and set off for the cafe on main street.

Lunch was delightful, obviously, because everything with Zira seemed to be delightful, and they chatted about things like Austen novels and tragic Victorian heroines, and they laughed over some stupid joke Crowley told, and Crowley walked out of that cafe feeling lighter than they’d felt in years. It was just so  _ easy _ to be happy around Zira. Their nickname for him was a little too accurate.

Classes went by much faster then, especially with the anticipation of getting to text Zira between classes. They went home, and made a simple dinner (at the behest of Zira, who begged them to please take care of themselves), and they texted Zira some more. They sketched a bit, and sent Zira pictures of their designs, and Zira praised them and gushed over them. They laid awake too late texting back and forth with Zira about some TED Talk or some interesting historical fact until one or the other or both of them fell asleep over their phones.

Rinse and repeat.

Until Thursday. Thursday, Crowley finished a class a little early, and decided to head over to the Social Sciences building to meet up with Zira for lunch. They were excited, their meetups with Zira were always a nice break from teaching, so with a smile on their face they made their way into the lobby of the building.

"Dr Crowley."

Crowley turned to see Dr Heavens smiling blandly at them. "Dr Heavens," they answered with forced pleasantness. "What's up?"

There were a lot of things they didn't like about Dr Heavens, and most of them were directly connected to his huge ego. For one, he was an American, and seemed adamant to keep his accent no matter how long he remained in London. For another, he considered himself morally higher than Crowley. That thought always made Crowley wrinkle their nose. Not to mention his abysmal attitude towards the queer community.

Needless to say, Crowley typically avoided Dr Heavens.

"I never see you here," Dr Heavens commented. "What are you doing in the Social Sciences building?"

"Meeting a friend."

Dr Heavens' smile faltered slightly. "That friend wouldn't happen to be Dr Fell, now, would it?"

"As a matter of fact," said a prim voice, "it would. Good morning, Dr Heavens," Zira said, appearing from a corridor and coming to stand beside Crowley. "Is there a problem?"

"I think there might be," Dr Heavens replied. "What are you doing with this—this—"

And here Dr Heavens called Crowley something that made Zira let out a small gasp. "How dare you!" he cried, his voice filled with hushed rage.

"Zira," Crowley said wearily.

"Every time we speak you find a way to insult and demean poor Dr Crowley," Zira fumed. "I'm nearly ready to speak to an authority."

"Zira," Crowley repeated, placing a hand on Zira's forearm.

"I'm not taking this from you, Zira, or your fag friend. If I had it my way, Dr Crowley wouldn’t even be  _ teaching _ here," Dr Heavens shot right back, his lip curling, and Zira let out a quiet little scream of pure anger and lurched for Dr Heavens.

_ "Zira,"  _ Crowley said, firmly now, and grabbed the furious little professor by the arm, holding him back. "C'mon, he's not gonna stop. Let's just go to lunch, angel."

"He can't talk about you like that," Zira insisted, even as Crowley led him away. "He  _ can't,  _ it mustn't be allowed."

"Just… come to lunch, angel," Crowley repeated, and their voice sounded unfathomably tired.

Subdued somewhat by their defeated tone, Zira followed.

Their walk to the cafe was quiet, and Zira chewed his lip and fidgeted his fingers to stave off all the questions the encounter provoked in him. Once they were settled at their usual table with two cups of tea in front of them, Crowley sighed. "Go on," they said, "I know you want to ask me something. I'm not that unapproachable, no matter how hard I try."

Zira sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since I was hired. He disliked me on sight. Or, well. He disliked stuff  _ about _ me."

"He's never… he hasn't attacked  _ me _ about it before," Zira said, "so why you?"

Crowley was quiet for a moment. "I'm more… open about it, I suppose. And besides, you're new."

Zira hummed in acknowledgement and resumed chewing on his lip for a moment. "That… those things he called you. Are you…"

"'Fag' is inaccurate. Not a man."

"Oh." Zira looked down. "And the first one he said?"

It was Crowley's turn to avert their gaze. "Hits a little too close to home, that one."

"Ah." Zira swirled his tea. "Do you mind me asking…?"

"Not a man. Not a woman. I'm… both and neither and somewhere between. It depends on the day, really." They took a long gulp of tea and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Hmm. I think I understand. Typically, I'm fine with people viewing me as a man but I'm not sure if I'm anything, really. I've never given it much thought."

"Ah. But you're okay with 'he'?"

"Perfectly alright with it, my dear."

"Good. Good." Crowley sipped their tea. "Since we're on the topic, before you ask, I’m bisexual but typically steer towards men. I just say ‘queer’, though. Not usually anyone’s business what words I use for myself." 

"Ah, that makes perfect sense. I have no preference, personally. I find that 'queer' also describes me fairly accurately."

Crowley nodded. "Same boat, then."

Zira raised his teacup. "Same boat," he smiled.

There was a short silence, and then Crowley snorted a little into their teacup. “The queer experience is knowing each other for less than two weeks and already knowing more about each other than our own family members ever will.”

Zira laughed. “You’re quite right, there. I never quite thought about it that way, but queer solidarity does have a funny way of bringing people closer together.”

“Just you wait, angel, by next week we’ll be talking about all our past traumas and our nightmarish coming-out experiences and crying over a bottle of wine.”

“Depends on the wine,” Zira replied, and laughed again. Then, smiling that soft little smile, he added, "I do love your company, my dear, and nothing Gabriel says will deter me."

Crowley nodded, and a faint smile graced their face. "If you're sure."

"I'm absolutely certain."

They lifted their teacups, clinking them together, and toasted to their growing friendships, the earlier unpleasantness drowned out by a new, warm feeling blossoming in their hearts.

* * *

_ Any plans for the weekend, Crowley? _

**A fuck ton of grading, mostly**

**Been putting it off but I have six classes worth of assignments to grade this weekend**

_ You really should manage your time better. _

**That’s never gonna happen angel**

**Time management doesn’t work for me**

_ Ah, I see. You wouldn't happen to have _

_ What do they call it these days? ADHD? _

**Right on it**

**I’m abysmal at getting anything done**

_ Would it help for you to have someone with you? I have some grading to do as well _

**Maybe**

**I don’t wanna impose, angel**

_ Oh you won’t be imposing crowley, I need to get this done as much as you do _

_ And it would be much better with company. _

**Alright then angel, text me your address. I’ll see you tomorrow**

* * *

The problem with driving to Zira’s home was that it was in London, and not only was it a little out of the way for them, but to get there Crowley had to navigate the M25. They were convinced that it was made to represent some sigil from Hell, as it seemed to generate a fog of low-grade evil over the entire stretch of road, and seemed to have been deliberately placed to inconvenience Crowley as much as possible. They slammed the heel of their hand down on the horn of their car, blaring it at the asshole in front of them who refused to move even though there was  _ space to move. _

Eventually,  _ somehow, _ they made it to Zira’s flat, a cute little place on the corner that seemed to be chock-full of books, even from the glimpses they caught through the windows. They parked, slid out of their car, and sauntered up to the door. Adjusting their sunglasses and their grip on the folder of papers they carried, they raised a hand and knocked.

There was a small crash from inside. “Oh!” Zira’s muffled voice exclaimed, and then there was another series of sounds, and then the door was flung open. “Crowley!” he beamed. “Come in, watch your step, I’ve been reorganizing.”

Crowley stepped in and was immediately overwhelmed. The entire sitting room of the flat was filled with books, rare and antique, stacked two-deep on shelves and littering the floor and any other available surface. It smelled of old paper and ink, binding glue and leather, with a hint of petrichor and something like lavender. “Please forgive the mess,” Zira continued, “if you’ll come into the next room you’ll find it’s much cleaner. Could I get you anything?”

“No, no,” Crowley mutters, trying to navigate around the scattered tomes. “‘S fine.”

The next room was, as Zira said, much tidier. All the books in that room were neatly shelved, and there was an overstuffed couch and a positively ancient armchair nestled in front of a low, claw-footed mahogany coffee table. It was still afternoon and the sun was high in the sky, but the room, its windows draped with thick red curtains, was a dim, shadowy, liminal space lit mainly by a floor lamp in the corner which cast a dim yellow glow over everything, and an antique glass-shaded table lamp set on a small round table beside a bookshelf. Crowley did not fail to note the pretty antique gramophone set upon yet another small table against a wall. They wondered if Zira used it at all, and what kind of records he had.

The flat was wonderfully cozy, despite its clutter. It reminded Crowley a bit of their grandmother’s house when they were small. It smelled like an antique store, all old leather and old wood and old paper, laced with lavender and chamomile. It felt homey and warm.

Their thoughts were disturbed by Zira, who continued chattering. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Have you remembered to eat today? I have a tin of biscuits in the kitchen, one moment, let me fetch them. I can put on a kettle, too, it’s a little brisk out there today, isn’t it?”

Zira bustled off through another doorway, presumably to where the kitchen was, and a moment later there was a number of loud clatters and a muttered  _ “oh, drat” _ from beyond the doorway. Crowley stood there in the middle of the room, unsure if they should sit down or go help Zira, clutching at their folders of papers like a lifeline in this unexpected sea of chaos. Their own cottage was rather minimalist inside, to reduce the likelihood of misplacing anything, and to be so suddenly thrust into this new and cluttered environment was more than a little overwhelming.

A few minutes later Zira reappeared, well-manicured hands grasping a tin of biscuits, and found Crowley standing in exactly the same place, exactly the same pose, as they had been when he’d left the room. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Go ahead and sit wherever you like. We can get started as soon as you’d like.”

Crowley blinked slowly, still trying to process their surroundings. “Uh. Um. Yeah. Right.” They sank down on the sofa, lanky legs bending and stretching as they found a comfortable position sprawled on the seat, and their fingers fidgeted with the edge of the folders they still held tight to.

“So what do you have to grade?” Zira asked, plopping himself in the armchair and opening the tin of biscuits.

“Eh. Gave my classes an assignment to watch this TED Talk and answer some questions. Unfortunately that’s six lecture halls full of students worth of assignments to grade, and I promised I’d give the assignments back this week.”

Zira let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a lot of work, I don’t have nearly that many students. I suppose we’d better get started, hadn’t we?”

Crowley sighed and flung the folder at the table. “I guess we should.”

They got to work, Zira on his assignments and Crowley on theirs, and for a short time, only the sounds of scribbling pens, flipping pages, and Crowley’s mumbling as they read answers out loud could be heard. Then the kettle in the kitchen began to shriek, and both professors dropped their pens, echoing the shriek of the kettle with quiet exclamations of their own.

"Dreadfully sorry," Zira said, getting up. "I'll go pour us each a cuppa. Remind me how you take your tea?"

"Two sugars, one cream," Crowley replied, picking up their pen and resuming their work. It was going slowly for them, their dyslexia even more unfriendly under the stress of the situation, but they figured a cup of tea might help. It was worth a shot, anyway.

Zira returned shortly with two cups of tea, placing one in front of Crowley and sipping on the other one as he resumed grading. "Do you frequently put off your grading this way?" he asked, scratching a tick mark on a page.

"All the time. Every time. I work best under pressure. Until I get stressed, and then I get a headache, and then I put it off more. So basically I always lose."

“That sounds dreadful,” Zira commented. “However do you manage?”

“I don’t, really,” Crowley admitted, and paused to read an answer under their breath before striking out a word and scribbling a note in their chicken-scratch handwriting. “I just sort of wait for it to all build up til it can’t wait anymore, and then just do everything at the last minute and hope I don’t forget or misplace anything. I write myself notes, when I remember to, but sometimes I’ll misplace the notes. Or forget I wrote them.”

“Oh, dear.” Zira shook his head. “Would it help at all if someone were to text you reminders of things you need to accomplish?”

Crowley thought. “Maybe,” they said slowly, then added much faster, “but you don’t have to. I mean. If you don’t think you’ll be able to keep up with that it’s fine, and if you actually don’t want to but just feel obligated because we’re friends that’s fine too, you absolutely don’t have to.”

“Crowley, my dear,” Zira admonished with a click of his tongue, “you should know that I don’t do anything at all that I do not wish to do.” He thought for a moment. “Except talk to Dr Heavens. I really do not like that man one bit.”

Crowley grinned. “We’re on the same page there, angel.”

Zira flipped through another worksheet. “I would think so. He can be so very cruel sometimes.”

There was a silence, filled by scratching pens and flipping papers.

“He doesn’t know it’s wrong, I think,” Crowley said quietly. “A lot of people don’t.”

“It is wrong to say hateful things,” Zira protested. “Everyone must at least know  _ that. _ ”

Crowley just shrugged. They seemed a little  _ too _ invested in their grading.

Uncomfortable, Zira sank back into his routine of sipping tea, ticking off wrong answers, and flipping pages.

Until, that is, he tried to take a sip of tea and realized with some horror that there was no tea left to sip. “Oh, dear,” he muttered. “My tea seems to have run out. Would you care for a top-off?”

Crowley shrugged again. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

In retrospect, providing a person who has ADHD with unlimited access to caffeine is, Zira discovered, not a great idea. By the time the sun had set, Crowley’s leg was bouncing at such a frequency that Zira was certain it was about to break the sound barrier and launch itself into space. In fact, Crowley was incredibly jittery overall. Their fingers twitched and tapped and wiggled and fidgeted, and their writing became messier and messier. They chewed on their lip and muttered nonsense aloud and misspelled words. They spoke so fast that their words blurred together, and they would sometimes skip over whole words.

“CanIhaveanothercuppaplease?” Crowley asked, thrusting their empty cup at Zira. It shook in their slightly trembling hand.

“No,” Zira told them firmly, “I am cutting you off.”

Crowley looked like they were about to cry. “Please?”

“No,” Zira reiterated. Then, “I can get you something else to drink. No caffeine,” he emphasized.

Crowley pouted, then said, “Jus’ glassa water then, thanks,” and went back to grading.

They ordered in for dinner, fish and chips for both of them. Crowley picked at the food, ignoring it for a while as they graded before Zira forced them to stop what they were doing and  _ eat,  _ for heaven’s sake.

Zira finished grading first, as was expected. He gathered all his papers up in neat, tidy piles, straightened them with a few good  _ thwacks _ on the table, and slid them into their respective folders. Everything was organized and in its proper place, all finished and completed by quarter past eight that evening. At that point, Crowley was still going strong, so Zira reached over and picked up a book, and began to read quietly.

Crowley wasn’t finished until half past one that morning. They finally looked up from the last paper and checked their phone, then groaned. “Ugh, I’m so sorry angel. I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

“Nonsense, Crowley, I don’t mind at all. I was just re-reading  _ Oliver Twist. _ One of my favorites.” He closed his book and watched as Crowley desperately tried to sort out all the papers into their respective folders, give up, and shove all the papers into one folder. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re going to regret that Monday.”

“I’m sure I don’t care,” Crowley said. “So sorry to have stayed so long, angel. But… we should do this again sometime. Maybe?”

“Of course, my dear, I would like nothing more. This has been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon and evening.”

“And early morning.”

“Ah, yes. Well, at least tomorrow is a weekend and we can sleep as long as we like.”

“Mmm.” Crowley headed for the door. “I’ll see you Monday, angel? Lunch like usual?”

“Of course. Drive safely, Crowley.”

“I will.”

The door closed with a final, quiet  _ click, _ and Zira cleared up the dishes, and the lights finally went out in the little corner flat on the edge of London.

* * *

Sunday, Crowley woke up tired, but much less stressed. They took some time to lie in bed, dozing on and off, until Lucifer made himself known with a yowl, hurling himself at Crowley's feet with claws extended.

"Gah! Fuck! Fine, you monster, I'll feed you," Crowley cried, tumbling out of bed to be practically chased into the kitchen by a jaded menace of a cat. Being in the kitchen reminded them that they needed to eat, too, so once the beast was fed they grabbed an apple and a package of toaster pastries and sat down at the island in their kitchen, tapping idly on their phone.

Their phone chimed.

_ Did you get enough sleep? _

**Never enough sleep, angel**

_ Oh there most certainly is enough sleep. You can’t exactly sleep the day away! _

**I can and will.**

**I just don’t choose to right now.**

_ Sure, crowley. _

**I feel like you’re making fun of me.**

_ Have you organized those papers yet? _

**Gimme a break, angel, i just woke up!**

_ You should probably get those organized before classes tomorrow. _

**Yes, and I should also eat three balanced meals a day but you don’t see me doing that either.**

Despite all their friendly argument with Zira, they did, in fact, organize the papers after breakfast, albeit slowly and while taking numerous breaks to watch reruns of  _ Golden Girls. _

**Youre too good of an influence, angel**

_ Just looking out for you, dear. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can yall tell that ADHD crowley is my actual whole shit. i hope u guys can tell. im trying so hard.  
im hoping to have another chapter up thursday or friday! drop a comment if u liked this chapter! recommend me songs that remind u folks of these two or smth :)


	5. Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> server: The Them  
Wednesday, September 18th, 2:03 am  
sword lesbian: WE COULD SET DR FELL UP WITH DR CROWLEY  
the antichrist™: go the fuck to bed pepper  
sandwich bitch: no no let her speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been waiting FOREVER to post this particular chapter. i'm so fucking excited. this was so fun to write. no warnings on this one, just memes and wholesome stuff this time  
disclaimer: i have no idea how uni works in england, i go to school in fuck-off nowhere, pennsylvania  
More Content coming monday-ish :))))))))))))))))

**_server:_** **_The Them_**

Monday, September 16th, 9:18 am

**sword lesbian:** It is times like these when I regret scheduling a single class before 11 in the morning

**sandwich bitch:** FELT THAT

**sword lesbian:** Aren’t you in class right now Wensley

**sandwich bitch: **arent YOU in class right now pepper

**sandwich bitch:** im BORED. let me text in peace

**sword lesbian:** Fair enough. Rip tho

12:23 pm

**the antichrist™: **hahahahahahaha guess who just woke up mother fuckers

**sword lesbian:** Adam please do not brag. I do in fact know how to use a sword

**the antichrist™: **oooooooh im so scared

**sandwich bitch:** my sarcasm alarm is going off

**brain:** discord messages u can hear

**sword lesbian:** You will learn to fear me

**the antichrist™: **how could i be scared of someone who says “sksksksksksksk and i oop” and “save the turtles”

**sword lesbian:** Are. Are you implying that just because I’m an environmental activist I am a vsco girl

**the antichrist™: **perhaps

**sword lesbian:** That’s it @sandwich bitch remove him from the server

**sandwich bitch:** actually he has a point, youre a bit of a soft touch so you kinda lose your scariness to those who know you

**sword lesbian:** I

**sword lesbian:** Hm.

**sword lesbian:** Noted.

Tuesday, September 17th, 12:03 pm

**sandwich bitch:** lunch anyone?

**the antichrist™:** sorry wensley I have class at 1, I’m already eating

**sword lesbian:** I’m in, where do you want to eat?

**sandwich bitch:** that cafe on main street. i heard fell goes to that one all the time, so it must be good. hes a huge foodie

**brain: **heading over there to eat with u guys too :))))))))

1:27 pm

**sword lesbian:** So are we going to talk about Dr Fell and Dr Crowley at the cafe or ???????????????

**brain: **they looked like good friends

**brain: **idk who dr crowley is but wish my friends were as cool as dr fell’s

**sword lesbian:** I’d be offended but you’re right

**sandwich bitch:** actually bitch im just as cool as dr fells ginger eye candy

**sandwich bitch:** also im sorry but dr crowley is hot af

**sandwich bitch:** i would fucking kill to have cheekbones like that

**sword lesbian:** Shut the fuck up your bone structure is exquisite and you know it

**brain: **hey not to change topic but check out these rare memes

**brain: ** vaporwave.jpg 

**brain:** kermit-glock.jpg

**brain: ** hellmo.png 

**brain: ** toe-mater.png 

**sandwich bitch:** i can comprehend exactly none of these

**brain:** fuck yeah that’s the point neither can i

**sword lesbian:** Incomprehensible. I love it

**brain: **thank u pepper. means a lot

**sword lesbian:** I am a good friend uwu

**sword lesbian:** Everyone ready for fells class this afternoon????

**sandwich bitch:** no

**brain: **no

**sword lesbian:** Adam?

**sword lesbian: **Oh wait I forgot he’s in class

**sandwich bitch:** oh nice going genius

**sword lesbian:** Listen

**sword lesbian:** I never claimed to be intelligent

**sandwich bitch:** and u never will

**sword lesbian:** HEY

**sword lesbian:** I will cut you

**brain: **god can u 2 raging homosexuals calm down

**sword lesbian:** Like you’re not also a raging homosexual

**brain:** it’s true but u shouldnt say it

**brain: **so like has anyone else noticed how weird dr fell is

**sword lesbian: **Oh yeah he’s super weird

**sword lesbian: **He talks like he’s six thousand years old,

**sword lesbian: **He has an unhealthy obsession with wilde,

**sword lesbian: **And his office is a hoarder’s nightmare of books

**sandwich bitch: **he probably saw the birth of the universe thats how old he is

**brain: **his hands are rly nicely manicured tho

**sword lesbian:** We KNOW you’re gay brian you don’t have to keep talking about older mens’ hands

**brain:** literally stop

**brain: **anyway have u guys finished the assignment for his class yet bc i dont want to do it. i dont understand a word of the reading

**the antichrist™: **literally do not ask me for it i just got out of astronomy and i am Tired

**the antichrist™: **HOWEVER

**sword lesbian: **:eyes:

**brain: **:eyes:

**sandwich bitch: **:eyes:

**the antichrist™: **theres this goth kid who sits all the way back in the lecture hall and theyre really cute

**the antichrist™: **i think their name’s warlock???? which is a badass name

**sword lesbian:** Oh here we go

**the antichrist™: **no that was it that was my however. the highlight of my day

**sword lesbian:** That’s pretty gay of you Adam

**the antichrist™: **excuse me im a BICON

**sandwich bitch:** yes we know adam. anyone who’s so much as glanced at your cuffed jeans knows this

**the antichrist™:** i came out here to have a good time and im honestly feeling so attacked right now

**sword lesbian:** Listen in this group chat it’s kill yourself or get killed

**brain: **whatcha gonna do

**sandwich bitch:** next one to reference a vine gets temporarily booted from this discord server

**brain: **ah fuck, i cant believe youve done this

**brain ** has been removed from **The Them**.

**sword lesbian:** mmm whatcha sayyyyyyy

**sandwich bitch:** actually pepper ur on thin fucking ice

**sword lesbian: **You like me too much to boot me, don’t you wensley?

**sword lesbian** has been removed from **The Them**.

**sandwich bitch:** once again the mod triumphs over all

**the antichrist™:** [sent an image]

**sandwich bitch:** must you ruin my fun adam

**the antichrist™: **i must. for the good of the empire

**brain ** has been added to **The Them**

**sword lesbian** has been added to **The Them**

**sword lesbian: ** i_liiiiiiiiiiiiive.gif

**brain: **and ONCE AGAIN BRIAN EMERGES TRIUMPHANT

**sandwich bitch:** be glad that your king is merciful. he pled your case most eloquently

**brain: **he sent you a meme

**sandwich bitch:** yeah

**sword lesbian:** Anyway back to the topic of dr fell

**sword lesbian:** So the first week of class. This was like a thursday I think

**brain: **yeah

**sword lesbian:** He had this funny look on his face, like he was super disappointed. So I, being the good student I am, asked him if he was ok

**the antichrist™: **:eyes:

**sword lesbian:** And he told me something about “people being disappointing and you need to dust yourself off and keep going” or something cryptic like that

**sandwich bitch:** oh my god someone broke up with him

**the antichrist™: **oh my god someone broke up with him

**brain: **oh my god someone broke up with him

**sword lesbian:** Poor Dr fell!!! He’s so sweet though. Idk why anyone would break up with him

**brain: **conflict of interests?

**sandwich bitch:** his ex had to move away?

**the antichrist™: **his ex was a deplorable shithead who had no idea how good dr fell really was?

**sword lesbian:** All good theories. Do you think we should do something about it?

**the antichrist™:** we should set him up with someone. blind date style

**sword lesbian:** Or we could not do that and instead do something else. We don’t know anything about him adam!

**brain: **other than he’s kind

**sandwich bitch:** and very smart

**the antichrist™:** and loves books and knowledge

**sandwich bitch:** and has a huge interest in the victorian era

**the antichrist™: **and loves oscar wilde

**brain: **and has nicely manicured nails

**the antichrist™:** and talks all posh and fancy

**sword lesbian:** Okay so he’s probably gay

**brain: **gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide is what he is

**the antichrist™: **its what you are mate

**brain:** youre one to talk

**brain: **self proclaimed bicon who fell in love at first sight with the goth in astronomy

**sandwich bitch:** yeah yeah we’re all gay we get it brian

**brain: **:kissy_face:

**the antichrist™: **ok so what are we going to do to help dr fell

**sword lesbian: **We have to set him up with another professor here. I’ll keep you all updated on which profs might be compatible

**brain: **great. btw i still have to finish the assignment for fells class so if anyone has it done and could send me photos that would be great

**sword lesbian: ** homework-1.jpg 

**sword lesbian: ** homework-2.jpg 

**sword lesbian: ** homework-3.jpg 

**sword lesbian: ** homework-4.jpg 

**sword lesbian: ** homework-5.jpg 

**brain: **marry me pepper

**sword lesbian:** Not in your wildest dreams mate.

Wednesday, September 18th, 2:03 am

**sword lesbian:** WE COULD SET DR FELL UP WITH DR CROWLEY

**the antichrist™: **go the fuck to bed pepper

**sandwich bitch:** no no let her speak

**sword lesbian:** I can see it now. They would look so good together

**the antichrist™: **idk who dr crowley is but fuck yeah you funky little lesbian

**sandwich bitch:** actually. counterpoint: they are exact opposites

**sword lesbian:** You have a point there wensley. I will examine my arguments and get back to you when I’m not sleep deprived

**brain: **yes go to bed

**the antichrist™: **everyone go to bed

**sword lesbian: **:moon: :bed:

10:34 am

**sword lesbian:** I have examined my arguments and  @sandwich bitch  I come to you with the following counterpoints

**sandwich bitch:** :eyes:

**sword lesbian:** 1 exact opposites make cute couples

**sword lesbian:** 2 Fell looks so happy with Crowley, I only see him smiling that big when he’s gotten distracted talking about Wilde or Dickens

**sword lesbian:** 3 Yesterday was the first time I saw Dr Crowley crack a grin that wasn’t sadistic

**sword lesbian:** 4 they’re both into the creative arts

**sword lesbian:** 5 it’s what they both deserve. Dr Crowley needs someone soft and understanding to break through their sour outside, and Dr Fell needs a tall dark artist to hang off his arm and make art of him

**sandwich bitch:** you are right. so how are we gonna do this

**sword lesbian:** I haven’t thought that up yet. First I wanna talk to Dr Fell about his preferences and maybe get to know him better. He’s super new still and I think he needs time to adjust

**sandwich bitch:** yes yes yes. okay. lunch again today?

**sword lesbian:** Of course lunch!

**brain: **i’m coming too :eyes: :eyes: :eyes: maybe we can catch them together again

Thursday, September 19th, 4:17 pm

**sword lesbian:** I take back everything I said about Fell being weird

**sword lesbian:** He’s cool as shit

**brain: **i saw u talking to him after class, what was up with that?

**sword lesbian:** Asked him for some advice. He gives damn good advice, guys

**sandwich bitch:** oh fuck yeah do u think he can tell me whether i should play the lotto this week

**brain: **i dont think hes that good wensley

**sword lesbian:** Yeah it’s more the “wise older gay man” wisdom than the “seeing the future” advice

**sword lesbian:** He invited me to come to his office sometime to talk about feminism and drink cocoa. What a legend

**the antichrist™: **an icon. gay uncle energy

**brain: **isnt it a little wild to just assume hes gay?

**sword lesbian:** Open your gay eyes, brian. This man is no more heterosexual than you or I

**the antichrist™: **she’s got a point

**sandwich bitch:** actually i mean. he could be bi or pan

**sword lesbian:** Good point wensley. When I go to his office to talk to him about feminism I’ll bring it up

**sandwich bitch:** keep us updated!

**sword lesbian:** Will do!!!!!!!!!

Friday, September 20th, 3:23 pm

**sword lesbian: **Visited Fell in his office today, had a nice chat about women’s rights and bodily autonomy

**brain: **WHATS THE VERDICT PEP

**sword lesbian:** He doesn’t like labels but if he had to use one he’d pick bisexual. He also doesn’t seem to give a shit about his gender???? He told me that he’s fine being seen as a man but he doesn’t feel strongly one way or the other

**sword lesbian:** Which is honestly pretty iconic

**sandwich bitch:** it’s actually what we deserve

**the antichrist™: **QUEER UNCLE QUEER UNCLE QUEER UNCLE

**brain: **we must STORM THE BASTILLE aka fell’s office and demand BISCUITS and COCOA and GAY BONDING

**the antichrist™: **it’s time for the queers to DESCEND LIKE LOCUSTS

**sword lesbian: **WE ARE THE L

**brain: **THE G

**the antichrist™:** THE B

**sandwich bitch:** AND THE T

**sword lesbian:** AND TOGETHER WE ARE

**the antichrist™: **one singular functioning person?

**sword lesbian:** FUCK YEAH

Tuesday, September 24th, 12:00 am

**the antichrist™: **can you guys believe it’s almost spooky season???????

**sword lesbian:** Time to enlist in the skeleton army!

**sandwich bitch:** are we going to go as the 4 horsemen like we were talking about?

**the antichrist™: **what would be the point if we didnt? we’d be missing out on an opportunity

**sword lesbian:** I call being war

**sandwich bitch:** im famine hell yeah

**brain:** ill be pollution

**the antichrist™: **and im death!!! spooky boy

**brain: **SPOOKY BOY

**sandwich bitch: **im actually so excited

**sword lesbian: **We're gonna do the bikers getup yeah?

**brain: **yeah thats the plan

**the antichrist™: ***slaps roof of me* this bad boy can fit so much leather on him

**sword lesbian:** Breaking news Adam has a roof

**brain:** or IS adam a roof

**sandwich bitch:** actually in this meme adam would be a car

**brain: **asjfdkajsdhaflkj w hat kind of car owuld adam be

**the antichrist™: **im a lexus

**sword lesbian:** Don’t think so highly of yourself, Mr I-once-ate-a-jelly-baby-off-the-floor

**the antichrist™: **it was one FUCKING time pepper

**sword lesbian:** And it has forever sullied your image in my eyes so think about THAT

**brain: **wait did you actually do that

**the antichrist™: **hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shut up

**the antichrist™: **it was a DARE

**sword lesbian:** You did it far too eagerly for it to just be a dare

**the antichrist™: **sklafjskjfkjsdlafkjs pepper please

**sword lesbian:** I will not be merciful

**sandwich bitch:** demolish him pepper

Wednesday, September 25th, 5:56 pm

**brain: ** thats-a-moray.png 

**brain:** picasso-surprised-pikachu.jpg

**sword lesbian:** Thanks, resident meme-dealer

**brain:** uwu

Thursday, September 26th, 3:59 pm

**sword lesbian:** Fell’s class today was so interesting! I loved hearing what he had to say about ancient Near Eastern religion

**brain: **i can’t spell any of the names he said but yeah that was pretty cool

**the antichrist™: **what’s the point of learning this stuff? i mean yeah it’s interesting i guess but why do i need to know that

**sandwich bitch:** actually supplementary classes like this are supposed to broaden your worldview! now you understand more about human culture :)

**the antichrist™: **i mean i guess,,

**sword lesbian:** You don’t NEED to know this stuff but it does give you a better idea of how people USED to live and act and function and you can apply some of this knowledge to today’s world!

**brain: **also i just think it’s pretty cool how dedicated they were to this stuff. fuck yeah you funky little babylonians

**the antichrist™: **on a similar but completely different topic

**the antichrist™: **let me talk about WARLOCK

**sword lesbian:** How is this at all similar

**the antichrist™: **because warlocks. u know. wicca. religion. it counts

**sword lesbian:** Ok walk us through your bi crisis mr antichrist

**the antichrist™:** this is NO LAIGHING MATTER PEP

**the antichrist™: **first of all. holy SHIT they are cute. i mean. theyve got this floppy dark hair that covers like ¾ of their face and they wear oversized jumpers and baggy trousers and their nails are always a different colour

**the antichrist™: **and they have a slightly american accent? which i wouldnt normally find attractive but they have this funny little way of pronouncing things when they actually talk

**the antichrist™: **theyre really quiet in class too, until something that interests them comes up. and then suddenly they know everything and theyre answering every question and asking more questions and i

**sword lesbian:** Oh my god Adam. Have you asked them out yet?

**the antichrist™: **jesus christ no of course not. theres no way im their type

**brain: **ask them out!!!!!!!!!!!

**sandwich bitch:** coward

**the antichrist™:** calm down!!!! i wanna make sure theyre not a shitty person before i ask them out

**sword lesbian:** A space-obsessed nonbinary goth could never be a shitty person Adam

**the antichrist™:** you dont know that. just. let me do my thing

**brain:** take ur time but like. dont take TOO long. waiting is boring and we’re all thirsty for drama

**the antichrist™:** :middle_finger:

**sandwich bitch:** yea yea love u too

Friday, September 27th, 10:38 am

**sandwich bitch:** i ACTUALLY went into dr crowley’s exam READY. i thought i was PREPARED

**sandwich bitch:** i was so so wrong

**sword lesbian:** It was easy lmao what are you talking about

**sandwich bitch:** actually pep i studied and everything but that was hell on earth

**brain: **if it makes you feel any better i completely bs-ed fell’s assignment

**the antichrist™: **agh same, i dont give two shits about dr fell’s class

**sword lesbian:** Do none of you actually care about your grades or

**the antichrist™: **i think we’re just lazy pep

**sword lesbian:** siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

**sandwich bitch:** uh oh weve disappointed the pepper

**brain: **sorry mum

**sandwich bitch:** sorry mum

**the antichrist™:** sorry mum

**sword lesbian:** You are forgiven my children. Please do your homework next time though

**brain:** no fun

**brain:** can we go back to talking about dr fell and dr crowley dating. that was way more fun to talk about than homework

**sandwich bitch:** actually this is so invasive i feel like. why are we doing this

**sword lesbian:** Because we are Nosy Little Bastards determined to Fuck Shit Up

**sword lesbian:** Also I need some drama in my life and what better way to attain that than to mercilessly ship two of my professors together

**the antichrist™:** she has a point

**sword lesbian:** And I AM being cautious Wensley, you know that. I’m not like. Pushing them together. Not til I know for certain if there’s chemistry and interest at least ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**brain: **( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**the antichrist™:** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**sandwich bitch:** ok ok ok ok ok

**sandwich bitch:** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) all aboard the crowley-fell ship

**brain:** crowley-fell sounds violent

**brain: **crowley-fell down the stairs

**brain:** crowley-fell off a chair

**sword lesbian:** crowley-fell from heaven sdfjskafhsldjh

**the antichrist™:** STOP

**sandwich bitch:** dhjwidusxcjvhuhadsjkl

**sandwich bitch:** “did it hurt when you FELL from heaven zira”

**brain:** “did it hurt when YOU crowley-ed up from hell”

**sword lesbian:** That one isnt as flirtatious as calling dr Fell an angel

**sandwich bitch:** actually. au contraire demons are sexy

**the antichrist™: **only succubi i think

**sandwich bitch:** really? bc i think all demons are hot

**sword lesbian:** even the tentically ones?

**sandwich bitch:** ESPECIALLY the tentically ones ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**brain: **OKAY thats enough of that, u guys want to go to the cinema tonight?

**the antichrist™: **only if it’s something scary

**sword lesbian:** Sure, I’ll pitch in for the snacks

**sandwich bitch:** actually that sounds like fun, more time to procrastinate

**the antichrist™: **yeah procrastination!

**sword lesbian:** You are all hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dabs* drop a comment, quote a vine, and say something obscure in ur group chat today for me


	6. Drinking and Dolphins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More grading is done, more lunches are shared, and two professors get very very drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! so it is 1 am on tuesday november 26th and i just remembered i promised u guys an update on monday november 25th. guess i'll die but hey. i'm still awake so it's technically still monday to my time-blind brain.  
this chapter is pretty thicc because i'm not updating at all over thanksgiving break (and also i don't have the next chapter even halfway written out) so prepare for an update next week on monday or tuesday :)  
anyway my only warning for this chapter is alcohol consumption but if ur a fan of good omens that shouldn't bother u. pls enjoy the iconic "dolphins" scene re-written for ur entertainment.  
okokok enough rambling in the notes i am SO TIRED i'll see u guys next week!!!!!!

After a pleasant few week of lunches together and complaining through text about every minor inconvenience, Crowley and Zira met up once again at Zira’s flat to grade. “Ugh,” Crowley groaned, pushing open the door dramatically, “why do I give these kids so many assignments?”

“Because you’re cruel and want them to fear you, dear,” Zira said matter-of-factly, putting the kettle on before joining Crowley in the back room. Crowley, now somewhat familiar with the constantly disorganized state of Zira’s home, sprawled on the sofa in a way Zira was convinced was anything but comfortable. “How much do you have to do tonight?”

“A shit ton, angel,” Crowley declared, tossing the bulging file folders onto the table with a heavy _ smack. _ “I gave ‘em the first test this week.” They sighed and fished a red pen from their jacket pocket. “I love my job, I _ do. _ But sometimes I’m ready to _ quit.” _

“Don’t do that,” Zira said with mild horror. “Which professor would I get lunch with every day? Certainly not _ Gabriel.” _

“Surely you have other friends on campus,” Crowley commented, pulling out the first stack of papers. “What about… ah, what’s her name. Michael? Isn’t she in your department? She seems nice enough.”

Zira shuddered, pushing up his glasses. “She’s friendly enough, but she doesn’t have anything _ interesting _to say.”

“Hm. What about Uriel? She’s one of the youngest professors on campus, surely she must be interesting.”

“I don’t understand how young people talk,” Zira shook his head. “Most of the time I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“What about—”

“Crowley, dear, listen to what I’m _ saying. _ You’re my _ friend.” _ Zira smiled gently. “The other professors—I talk with them, we have nice enough conversations, but there’s nobody else like _ you _ there.”

Crowley ducked their head. Zira could have sworn they were _ blushing. _ “‘S very nice of you, angel,” they mumbled at the table, scribbling furiously on a page.

Zira just frowned slightly and bent his own head to his work.

Instead of getting takeaway or ordering in that night, Zira offered to cook, and Crowley, startled, agreed. Nobody had cooked for them in… well, in years. Zira left Crowley to their grading, slipping into the kitchen one room over and starting up a racket of noise as he set about preparing dinner. Crowley could hear him humming over the sound of something being stirred. The background noise helped them to concentrate on their work, and they sped through several more tests as delicious smells began to waft from the kitchen. “Smells good, Zira,” they called.

“Oh, thank you,” Zira answered, sounding flustered. “I don’t often get the chance to cook for other people.”

“I’ll let you do it as much as you want.” Crowley glanced at the answer key and scratched a red line through a wrong answer. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.”

“You’ll just have to come over more often.”

Something warm settled in Crowley’s chest and sat there, heavy, like Lucifer had just perched on their rib cage. But in a comforting sort of way. “Yeah,” they said, “I suppose I will.”

Before too long, Zira emerged triumphant with two plates of something steaming and beautifully-plated. [ “Chicken piccata,"](http://www.redshallotkitchen.com/2014/01/chicken-piccata.html) he said, handing a plate to Crowley. “And I have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc around here somewhere which should pair nicely with it, if you’d like a glass.”

Crowley’s mouth watered. “This smells amazing, Zira,” they said, then added, “just one glass couldn’t hurt.” They worried at their lip. “Thanks.”

“Go ahead and eat, I’ll be right back,” Zira smiled, and left the room once more.

Crowley dug in, the smell reminding them of how they’d forgotten to eat lunch, and God Almighty it was fantastic. “Holy shit,” they mumbled, shoving another mouthful in before they’d even finished the first. “Holy fuck. Zira,” they yelled, “god damn, this is so good!”

"No need to swear, dear fellow," Zira chided lightly, returning with a bottle and two glasses, "but thank you anyway."

Crowley smirked. "Forgot you were religious, angel. You don't seem the type."

Zira sighed as he sat down, pouring out two glasses of the fragrant wine. "I'm not religious, exactly, I just _ study _ religion. I find it fascinating."

"Fair enough," Crowley said, and stuffed their face again. "Uh. Thanks for cooking, I guess," they added rather belatedly.

"It was quite enjoyable, no need to thank me," Zira responded, but he looked incredibly pleased, so Crowley considered it a win.

Once they finished eating, they resumed grading, now accompanied by wine, which probably was not the greatest idea. Fortunately for both of them, they were nearly done. Before midnight, in fact, Crowley threw down their pen and declared, "Finished. If I have to grade one more of these I'll scream."

"Please don't," Zira bemoaned, "I have neighbors. Are you certain you didn't miss any?"

"Well, if I did, that lucky student has a perfect score because I'm not looking at these papers ever again."

Zira laughed. "That's awfully irresponsible of you, Crowley, if I dare say so."

Crowley's face immediately fell. "Yeah," they muttered, looking anywhere but at Zira. He couldn’t quite tell, but it sounded like they followed up, even quieter, with, "Irresponsible. Should try harder."

Zira realized, suddenly and terribly, that he had crossed some unknown line. "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, that _ was _ a joke, dear. I didn't intend to upset you," he fussed, distressed that he'd hurt his friend. _ Again, again, all you do is fuck things up, it was never going to last, it was— _

"—fine, angel, 's fine. Just a little… uhm. Sensitive to those sorts of comments. Comes with the disorder." They tapped the side of their head with a wry, tight little smile. "I know you didn't mean it, don't look so upset. You're fine."

“Are you sure?” Zira asked in a small voice.

“Absolutely so,” Crowley said genuinely. “Really, angel.”

Zira bit at his lip. “If you’re sure. I’m still sorry,” he added earnestly, “I really won’t say anything of the sort again. I don’t… want to hurt you.” His gaze dropped. “Like I said before. You’re my friend. And I want to keep it that way.”

“And you will,” Crowley said gently. “I’m not going to stop being your friend over this. Promise, angel.”

Zira smiled, though it was slightly wobbly. “Thank you, Crowley. Now,” he continued, getting up and gathering their dishes. “I’ll be clearing up, and you should go home and get some rest. You’re not imposing, of course, but I don’t want you to drive when you’re tired, that’s dangerous.”

Crowley grinned. “Alright, angel, since you care so much I’ll go home. No promises I’ll go straight to sleep, though.”

Zira rolled his eyes with another smile. “Yes, yes, you wiley thing. I’ll see you Monday?”

“Absolutely you will,” Crowley confirmed, hoping they didn’t get another debilitating migraine Monday that rendered them unable to keep their promise again. “Bye, angel.”

“Good-bye.”

* * *

Monday, Crowley did, in fact, get a migraine. Fortunately for them, it was mild enough that they could just down several pills, put on sunglasses, and mumble their way through their lectures. Anathema came by their office with tea, which helped some, and by the time lunchtime rolled around Crowley didn’t dread heading out to lunch with Zira. They met up with him outside the Social Sciences building and asked, “Where to, angel?”

“Well, I know we normally go to the cafe, but I’m very much in the mood for some sushi today,” Zira decided, giving Crowley a little smile from behind his round glasses. It was chillier today, and a strong breeze blew through, ruffling Zira’s golden curls. Instead of his typical waistcoat and jacket ensemble, today he wore a soft yellow cable-knit jumper which complimented his hazel eyes nicely. The apples of his cheeks were rosy, and crinkled up nicely under his eyes. Crowley delighted in the sight of him, sweet and warm and soft like honeycomb and fresh-baked bread. It was refreshing, the joy Zira brought with him. “There’s a lovely little Japanese place down the road, I think,” he continued, oblivious to the way Crowley watched his face.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, trying to not sound distracted, “the food there’s pretty good. Really nice sake, too.”

“Oh, I love a good sake. I’m not normally one for day drinking, so we’ll have to go back some evening to try it.”

“Sure, angel,” they grinned. “But for now, I think they also have a nice selection of teas.”

“Ooooh,” Zira exclaimed, delighted, and grabbed at Crowley’s arm. “Come, Crowley, I’m quite peckish, we can talk tea while we walk.”

So they talked tea while they walked in the nippy late-September air, the trees blushing red as the breeze whispered sweet nothings in their branches and stripped them gently of their leaves, until they reached the quaint Japanese place, where Zira held the door for Crowley with a cheery “After you.”

Inside it was blessedly dim, and Crowley nearly sighed with relief. They took seats at the sushi bar and Zira, to Crowley’s surprise, spoke in fluent Japanese to the sushi chef. The chef smiled at them and responded, and there was a quick exchange that Crowley comprehended none of. When the sushi chef turned, Crowley leaned towards Zira and murmured, “I didn’t know you could speak Japanese.”

Zira smiled a small, proud smile. “I can speak several languages,” he said. “Japanese, Italian, Latin, Hebrew, Hindi, Arabic, Greek, and a little French, alongside English.”

Crowley gaped. “When did you have time to learn all that?”

“I’m a scholar of religion, I made it my job to be able to understand numerous languages to be able to read manuscripts and religious texts in their original languages.”

Crowley blinked several times before they were able to formulate a sentence. “Zira, holy shit. I mean. Wow. I knew you were clever but—_ wow.” _

Zira blushed, ducking his head under the small volley of compliments. “Really, Crowley.”

They opened their mouth to retort something like _ Be proud of your accomplishments, don’t brush this off, _ but the chef placed two cups of steaming green tea in front of them and smiled, saying something in Japanese to Zira, who smiled pleasantly and replied. There was another exchange, and then Zira turned to Crowley and asked, “What sort of sushi do you like?”

Crowley fumbled for a moment. “Erm, pretty much anything, I suppose. I don’t eat it much.”

Zira nodded and returned to his conversation with the chef. The chef smiled, nodded, replied, and set to work. Crowley watched in fascination as he prepared the impeccable pieces of sushi. Rolls of maki formed as if by magic beneath his skilled fingers, perfect slices of fish found their way onto beds of rice, impeccable sashimi laid in beautifully straight lines on a platter, and then it was in front of them, and Crowley stared at it, somewhat unsure of what to do. They glanced at Zira, hoping he’d take the hint and go first. He did, letting out a quiet exclamation of thanks to the chef before picking up a pair of chopsticks and daintily selecting the first perfect piece.

Crowley watched him carefully, observing the way he picked it up, the way he dressed it lightly with soy sauce and a touch of wasabi, the way he put it delicately in his mouth, chewed, closed his eyes and savored. He let out a noise that sounded just a touch inappropriate for polite company, and then he swallowed, dabbed his mouth delicately with a napkin, and said, “Oh, this is fantastic. I must come here more often.” His eyes glinted, his face alight with happiness. “Crowley, you simply must try this.”

Not one to refuse good food when it was offered to them, Crowley clumsily picked up their own chopsticks and selected their own maki roll, trying their best to follow Zira’s example. With only a brief struggle to keep control of their chopsticks, they brought the food to their lips and, after a moment’s hesitation, popped it in.

Oh, it was delicious. They’d never had sushi like this before, and now they weren’t sure if they would ever want to get it anywhere else. “Oh,” they exclaimed quietly.

Zira beamed. “This is wonderful. I’m so happy I chose to go here today.”

“Mmm,” Crowley agreed, nodding emphatically. “Yeah. Good choice, angel.”

The meal passed pleasantly, the pair sharing a platter of sushi and a pot of green tea between them. They would have stayed there all afternoon had they not had classes to attend to, and it was with some sadness that Zira finished off the last piece of sashimi. “Oh, that was delightful,” he said, and then he turned to the chef and once more spoke in Japanese.

The chef handed him the check, and Crowley reached over to snatch it from his hand, but Zira held it out of arms’ reach. “_ I _will get it today, since it was my idea,” he declared, and the glint in his eyes said not to argue. 

Crowley reluctantly gave in, but not without a resolute pout. “Thanks, angel,” they mumbled.

“It’s no trouble,” he replied mildly, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

Bill paid, they made their way back to the school, Crowley only wincing slightly as their aching eyes struggled to adjust to the sunlight even behind tinted glasses. “See you tomorrow?” they asked as they paused in front of the Social Sciences building.

“Of course, my dear,” Zira beamed, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then he turned and made his sunshiney way indoors, leaving Crowley staring after him with sunspots of that blinding smile blinking before their eyes for several minutes afterwards.

* * *

Wednesday, the second day of October, it was gloomy and threatened a cold, dreary rain when the pair met up at their customary cafe for lunch. Crowley had not slept very well the night before, and sat nursing a strong cup of coffee, their eyes tired and aching behind their glasses. Zira was sitting across from them, a cup of tea cradled in his hands, watching them with curiosity. “Crowley,” he said suddenly, in that tone of voice that suggested that he was about to ask a question, “why do you wear sunglasses all the time?”

Crowley made a small noise and turned their head, putting their sharp nose and clifflike brow into profile. “Migraines,” they said. “I’m really sensitive to bright lights, because they can give me migraines, so I wear glasses.”

“Ah,” Zira said, then, “dreadfully sorry if that question was too personal, I know it wasn’t my place to ask, I just—”

“I know, I know, angel,” Crowley said, unable to help how their mouth turned upwards in a smile. “You’re insatiably curious, you know that? It’s perfectly alright. It’s not a secret, or something private. I just don’t typically make it people’s business.” They paused. “Also, the sunglasses make me look more intimidating.”

Zira grinned. “I always thought they made you look like some sort of rock star,” he commented. “You look so _ cool, _strutting around in your tight pants and your dark glasses.”

Crowley ducked their head. “Dunno about _ cool, _angel, but alright, then.”

“No, really, Crowley,” Zira insisted, laughing slightly, “you look like you belong in a band. Maybe you’d play an… electric guitar, or something.”

“Well, I do play the guitar, a little.”

_ “No.” _ Zira leaned forward. “You don’t. Really?”

Crowley shrugged. “A little. I’m all self-taught. Keep trying to pick up hobbies and then never putting effort into any of them.”

Zira hummed. “Well, I don’t know any instruments at all, so you’re beyond me.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, amused. “No musical talent at all?”

Zira paused. “Well, I sing, a little—but that doesn’t count,” he added hastily.

“You _ what? _ You _ sing, _ angel?” It was Crowley’s turn to lean forward now, a smile playing on their tired face. “The list of angelic qualities stretches for miles at this point.”

He bit his lip and looked down at his tea. “I… haven’t sung for anyone in a long time, so I’m certain I’m not nearly as good as I was when I was young.”

“You don’t have to be good, angel, as long as you enjoy it.” Crowley’s voice was gentle. “And it’s alright if you never show anyone, either. It’s your choice whether or not to share what you like with others.”

“Oh, oh, thank you, Crowley,” Zira gushed, his eyes doing that crinkling thing again. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“‘M not sweet,” Crowley grumbled.

“Of course not. You're grumpy and intimidating and not at all sweet and pleasant." Zira's hazel eyes twinkled.

Crowley rolled their eyes theatrically. "Just 'cause I'm nice to _ you _ doesn't mean I'm a 'sweet' person. 'M scary."

"Sure you are," Zira placated, reaching over to pat their hand. "Very scary, my dear, nobody scarier."

Crowley groaned. "Great, angel, you just ruined my image by patting my hand."

"Oh, come now, Crowley, I'm sure none of your students are here."

"If they are, I'll scare 'em straight next class. Don't want 'em getting any ideas about me being _ nice." _

“I’m sure they know better,” Zira comforted.

By the time they left, it was raining, and neither professor had an umbrella. “Shit, shit, shit,” Crowley muttered, running their hands over their blazer. “We’re gonna get wet, aren’t we angel?”

Zira nodded. “We are.” He gazed out at the rain from under the awning of the cafe. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it,” he sighed. He turned to Crowley. “Shall we?”

Crowley nodded grimly, and together they stepped out into the rain.

They returned to campus side-by-side, half jogging, half giving up, and by the time they reached the Social Sciences building, they were both soaked to the bone. Zira turned to bid Crowley good-bye and burst out laughing.

“What?” Crowley asked indignantly. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I—oh, hahaha—it’s just that—heehee—you look like a drowned cat, Crowlehehehee!” Zira doubled over. “So grumpy, hahaha!”

Crowley frowned, which only furthered the likeness. “Do not,” they said.

“You do, oh, you do,” Zira gasped. “Oh, my god.”

Crowley bit their lip, trying their hardest to keep a straight face as Zira dripped all over and nearly fell down laughing. They failed spectacularly, and ended up laughing right alongside Zira. “I need,” Crowley cackled after a moment, “I need to go, class, oh, god, class to teach.”

“Go, go go go,” Zira panted, trying very hard to catch his breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, always, angel,” Crowley managed, and then they were staggering out into the rain, still half-chuckling to themself about their terrible luck and their bedraggled appearances.

As they stepped into the art building, they were accosted by a bustle of colour and dyed-orange hair and caked-on makeup by the name of Professor Dolores “Madame Tracy” Potts. “Oh, Anthony,” she exclaimed, dragging them by the arm into her office. “How did I know you were going to forget your umbrella on today of all days? Here, let me get you a cup of tea and a blanket, you’ll catch your death of cold.”

She bustled about her office, which was chock-full of half-finished knitting, weaving, and crocheting projects, as well as several different tarot decks and one large ornamental crystal ball, and draped a hand-knitted and lavender-scented blanket over their shivering shoulders. “You really shouldn’t be running about on a day like today without at least a coat on,” she chided, pressing a cup of warm chamomile into their hands. “Why aren’t you wearing one? No, let me guess, it ‘cramps your style.’ Well, darling, let me tell you, nothing cramps your style quite like pneumonia, so why don’t you buy yourself a fashionable trench coat and keep yourself out of hospital. Don’t try to argue with me, I’ve heard it all from you. Didn’t you get caught in a snowstorm without even a hat on to protect your ears last winter? Don’t know how your ears didn’t fall off, honestly, Anthony.”

Crowley took her scolding in stride. She was the closest thing they had to any sort of maternal figure at this point, and they welcomed her fussing. “Sorry, Tracy,” they muttered into the teacup, which was garishly floral.

“I know you are, dear, but you really ought to take care of yourself.”

“I know, I know, I’ll be more careful.” They sighed. “I forget _ everything, _ Tracy, and I fucking _ hate it. _ ” They slouched in the chair she’d shoved them down into, and tea almost sloshed out of the cup. “I try _ so hard _ to function, but even on medication I fuck up being a person.”

“Don’t worry about it so much, Anthony. Everyone forgets things. Nobody thinks any less of you for it.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Nobody who matters, anyhow.”

Crowley breathed out a laugh at that. “Yeah, I suppose,” they conceded. Then, “Oh, fuck, goddamnit, I have a class to teach in fifteen minutes. I have to go! Can I—can I take the blanket?”

“Yes, yes, go,” Tracy sighed, shoving them out the door. “Go on, teach your class, don’t even thank me.”

Crowley was already jogging down the hall, clutching the blanket like a cape, but they called out over their shoulder, “Thank you!” before they rounded a corner and were gone.

Zira was not so fortunate as to have a Tracy in his life. By the end of the day, he was sneezing, and by the time he got home he had trouble breathing. He was sniffling and coughing for a week after. He just considered himself lucky he didn’t have it worse.

* * *

Saturday night, Zira received a call on his mobile. The caller ID informed him that it was Crowley, and he answered, despite feeling awfully under the weather. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Zzzzira,” Crowley’s voice slurred. “Y’sound like shit.”

“I feel like it,” Zira said dryly. 

“Awww.”

“Are you drunk, Crowley?”

“Maybe,” Crowley said cheerily. “Are you?”

“No, although I sort of wish I was.”

“‘S not too late to start. Wish I could share this whiskey with you.”

“At this point, I’m certain I could get drunk off the fumes you’re breathing through your mobile.”

“Ooooh,” Crowley warbled, “wouldn’t that be somethin’? Imagine being able to breathe alcohol instead of… of… puttin’ it in your body. Wouldn’t haveta deal with… taste’a vodka. Or. Or that burning feeling. Or. You know. You just breathe it and get a nice buzzzz.” Crowley buzzed helpfully.

“D’you know Dr Zebub?” they continued. “Ze buzzes. ‘S like a lisp but ze just drawwwwws out their zeds. Ze likes the letter zed a lot, I think. Think ze uses these pronouns just so ze gets to hear as many zedzzzzzz as ze likes.”

“I’ve never met zir,” Zira said slowly. “What does ze teach?”

“Ze’s the dean of the art department,” Crowley said, annunciating each ‘t’ and ‘p’. “My boss.” They belched. Zira wrinkled his nose.

“I see. So ze’s an artist like you?”

“Mmmmmmyeah. Ze does mixed media stuff. Collages n’. N’ dyed paper n’ stuff. Looks pretty cool, I guess.”

“That’s very interesting, Crowley. Why… why did you call me?”

“Cause. Cause drinking alone is bullshit and not fun, and if. Uhhhh. If I couldn’t have you here to drink with I might as well. Talk to you n’ pretend?”

“Oh.” Zira didn’t quite know what to say. “Well, you can talk at me as much as you want, but I’m afraid my voice is not up for much talking tonight. And _ do _ drink some water, Crowley, and eat something, if you haven’t. Being drunk on an empty stomach is never fun.”

Crowley sighed and grumbled but there was a rustling noise and then the sound of glass clinking and a tap running. A pause, a gulp. “There. Water.” Another pause. “Was gonna say something. About water. Water? Sea. The ssssssssssea.” An even longer pause. “Oh, well. I’m gonna… what was I gonna do?”

“Eat something,” Zira prodded.

“RIGHT. Eating. Gotta do that. That thing.”

Another pause. A cabinet door opened and closed. Plastic rustled, and then the sound of munching came through. “Eating. Check.”

Zira sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Two hours later, Zira had finally broken out the wine and joined Crowley. He was on his third glass and was pleasantly tipsy.

“My point is,” Crowley said. “My point. Uhhhhhhhhhhh. My _ point _ is. Dolphins, angel. They’ve got. Brains. Size of… size of. Size of damn big brains. And the WHALES.”

“Whales,” Zira agreed.

“Brain city, whales,” Crowley declared. “Take it from me. Whole sea full of brains.”

“Lots of brains.” Zira hiccuped. “What about. Uhhh. The Kraken?”

“Uh?”

“Great big bugger,” Zira explained as much as he could. “Big. Monstrous, squiddy thing. S’posed to rise up… riiiiiight up from the ocean when the world ends and the sea boils.”

“Well—well, tha’s… tha’s my POINT,” Crowley slurred. There was a rustling sound, like they were gesturing wildly. “Tha’s my point, angel, whole sea’s gonna bubble. When the world ends. Gonna turn all the whales, n’. N’ the dolphins? Turn ‘em into builouiou…” A pause. “Buioliliul…”

“Boouiooiuo,” Zira supplied helpfully.

“Buio. Buebh… fish stew.” They burped. _ “ANYWAY. _ D’you teach that apocawhassit in your uhhhhhhh _ religion _ classes?”

“The apoca… thing. Apocathing is covered in _ lossa _ different religions, Crowley. My students learn about… about lots of different _ kinds _ of world-endings. Not just, uhm, Relevations. I mean. Revelations.”

“Like wha’?”

“Ragnarok,” Zira declared dramatically, and then dissolved into giggles. “That film with the handsome blond actor? ‘S nothing like the true Norse legend.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Loki, uhm, he breaks out, wham, crash, from the chains where he was imprisoned. ‘N he leads an army of giants across the sky to betray Asgard. The earth shall be _ plunged _ into winter,” he intoned, “and the giants of fire will storm across the bifrost, shattering it in their wake. The gods… shall go to battle even though… get this, Crowley! Even though they know about the prophecy about the end of the world, and how they’ll lose. They go to battle, and Odin gets _ swallowed _ by Fenrir the wolf, and then one of Odin’s sons _ slays _ the beast. Heimdall and Loki kill each other, and Thor and Jormungand do the same. A few gods survive but most do not. It’s all very tragic, really.”

“Aww, even Thor?” Crowley sounded disappointed. “Can’t believe Thor died, Zira, that’s the worst bit, really.”

“Thor wasn’t even that great of a—hic! A great character in the Norse religion. A bit of a wanker, that one.”

“Zira! I’ve never heard such language out of your mouth before,” Crowley giggled.

“It’s true, though!” Zira pouted. “He was quite unpleasant overall.”

“So’re most gods,” Crowley said, “if you really think about it.”

“If you think about it,” Zira echoed faintly. “Crowley, I really ought to go to bed. It’s getting late.”

“Ugh, sleeping,” Crowley said sleepily. “Who likes that, even?”

“I do,” Zira mumbled. “I like it.”

“Well, you have fun, then,” Crowley sighed. “Monday. See you, uhhhhm. See you then. On Monday. For lunch.”

“Yes,” Zira said, “lunch. Good night, Crowley.”

“Nnnn. Night.” There was a faint rustling, then Crowley hung up.

Zira stumbled to bed, a little unsteady, and was almost immediately asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahaha sometimes u just. have adhd and project huh? also i keep making >:3c faces at this chapter because i'm tossing in So Much foreshadowing to the Angst-Fest in part 2 hehehehehe nobody is prepared except u, Nymous ;)  
ANYWAY pls leave a comment, and if u have adhd (or u don't), tell me if caffeine makes u sleepy or zazzes u up because i have experienced Both, sometimes at the same time, and i am in Hell. thank u for reading uwu


	7. Picture Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zira tries something new, takes a nap, and watches Crowley paint. Lucifer is a brat. Crowley has a run-in with a nasty co-worker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck YEAH its an early update lads
> 
> i had a GREAT thanksgiving break so i am ENERGIZED and INSPIRED. HOWEVER finals start this week and go into next week and also i am MOVING next weekend so idk when the next update is gonna be. pls be gentle with me i have been diagnosed with baby.
> 
> no major warnings for this chapter but sandalphon is a shitty person so there's a lil bit of hinted transphobia but nothing outright is said or done.
> 
> for the painting scene in this one i watched a bunch of youtube videos for inspiration, specifically from lena danya who does amazing oil paintings. [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AL39bS8VX9Q) is my favorite!

“You  _ what?” _

Crowley lurched forward at the table the pair was seated at in their typical cafe. It was a chilly but sunny Tuesday afternoon, and Zira, back to the window so he was haloed in sunlight, took another sip of his tea before repeating, “I’ve never taken a selfie with anyone before. Really, Crowley, you know I don’t follow the trends like you do. I don’t see why you’re so surprised.”

Crowley grumbled something about Zira needing better friends and fidgeted with their own coffee mug. “Everyone and their mother takes selfies these days, angel, even those people who are ‘outdated.’ I’m gonna have to fix this, you know that, right?”

“I would rather you didn’t.” Zira’s nose was still red and irritable from the cold he was recovering from, and he sniffled into a handkerchief. “I’m not exactly feeling photogenic right now, anyway.”

“Ah, come on, you look fine, angel,” Crowley said, taking note of Zira’s rather sickly complexion, complete with red-rimmed, dark-circled eyes, and reminding themself to ask him if he’s alright later. “Just one picture?”

Zira looked at Crowley and sighed. “Alright, fine. But if you even think about posting it on the… Instant Gram, or Facebook, or whatever else it is you use, I’ll make you delete the photo.”

Crowley rolled their eyes dramatically behind their dark glasses.  _ “Instagram, _ angel, it’s  _ Instagram.” _ They pulled out their mobile and opened the camera on it. “Come on, Zira, get over here.”

Zira sighed and pulled his chair around to sit beside Crowley. “What should I even do?” he asked, trying to sound petulant instead of pleading.

“Just… do that thing with your face. The smiley thing. Where it goes all bright,” Crowley muttered, and held up the camera.

Zira tried. It wasn’t nearly as bright as usual. It might have been the pain in his sinuses. It might have been the anxiety. He wasn’t sure.

He glanced at Crowley’s face on the screen, a little half-smile playing on their mouth, their free hand holding up two fingers, and he smiled a little bigger.

“That’s it, angel,” Crowley praised with a real smile, and snapped the picture. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Thank you,” Zira said faintly, and returned to his place across from Crowley, feeling a little light-headed.

Crowley put away their mobile, rested their elbows on the table, rested their chin on the heels of their hands, and stared at Zira. “Are you alright?” they asked him, steady and direct.

“‘M fine,” Zira said, and dropped his eyes to the table. He was not a very good liar.

“How long have you been sick?”

“...Since the rainstorm last week.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not terribly so. I can function and I can teach.”

“Have you been sleeping enough?”

Zira hesitated a little too long.

“Jesus  _ fuck, _ Zira. Of course you look like you haven’t slept since last week, you probably haven’t—why haven’t you taken a sick day?”

“I didn’t think I needed one.” Zira looked sheepishly down at his hands, unused to the scolding. “I’m doing just fine, Crowley, really.”

“You’re not, though, look at you! I’ve never seen your hands this shaky. You’re pale and your eyes aren’t as shiny and I’ve never seen you go this long without doing one of those stupidly bright smiles. Cancel your next class. We’re going back to your office and you’re taking a nap, Zira, no arguments.”

“But—”

“I  _ literally _ just said no arguments, angel. C’mon, finish your tea, it’s naptime.”

Crowley waited impatiently for Zira to be finished with his tea, then led him back to his office, pushed him into his armchair, draped a blanket over him, and patted the puff of curls on top of his head. “Cancel your classes for the next two hours and get some fucking sleep, angel.” Then they left, closing the office door quietly behind them.

* * *

_ I feel a lot better for a nice rest. _

**Told you that’s all you needed.**

_ Thank you for your concern, by the way. That was very thoughtful of you _

**Aksjdflakdj**

**I mean it was no problem angel**

_ I’m not entirely sure what it was but I’m going to assume that that was a positive string of nonsense you just sent to me. _

**Why do you insist on teasing me angel????????**

_ Because you have the most marvellous reactions when I do. _

**Fhdsjkdcjdnkajshf.**

_ Like that. _

**Oh fuck you, you bastard.**

_ You like it. _

* * *

Wednesday, it snowed. It was only a few flurries, but when they walked to the cafe together, Zira exclaimed excitedly as he pointed at the snowflakes fluttering to the ground, melting upon impact. “Oh, Crowley, look! It’s the first snow of the season!” he cried, delight shining in his round hazel eyes. He only coughed a little bit—an improvement.

Crowley, hands shoved deep into their pockets, nodded tight-lipped. “I see, angel. Now c’mon, let’s get inside before I bloody well freeze my fingers off.”

Zira laughed, the sound musical in the crisp clear air, and his walking pace quickened some so Crowley didn’t catch frostbite. Once they were settled in the cafe, a strong, hot cup of coffee cradled in Crowley’s hands, Zira began to chatter about his lesson plans for the rest of the term. “I’m quite excited to touch on the ancient Hindu religions with this class,” he explained, “but I’m only able to spend one class period on it. Hopefully they don’t mind a bit of a stamina day, I’m going to be giving them so much information.”

While he spoke, he watched as Crowley pulled out a battered, spiral-bound sketchbook and a nub of a pencil. He trailed off as Crowley set pencil to paper, but Crowley waved him on as soon as he stopped speaking. “Keep going,” they said absently, “swear I’m listening. Just gotta keep my hands busy.”

Zira stuttered back into action, going on about the Hindu pantheon but frequently losing track of his thoughts as he grew distracted by Crowley’s motions. The careless way they yanked the lines across the page, the way they scribbled in shadow, their interesting way of building up detail from little blocky smudges, all had Zira somewhat enchanted.

Crowley eventually noticed Zira watching them intently. “Sorry, am I distracting you?” they asked wearily, like they’d been told that dozens of times before. They probably had, Zira thought sadly.

“No, no, I’m just—I love it. Watching you draw,” Zira explained. “Your artwork is beautiful. You have a splendid eye for detail.”

Crowley made a few noises that sounded like “ngk” and “mnffgk.”

“You really do. I’m truly delighted watching you work.”

“Hnngk,” Crowley said.

“Are you drawing people here in the cafe?” Zira asked, glancing around.

Crowley nodded. “That woman there, with her computer out. That man sitting in a strange position on that stool. The student over there leaning on their hand. That person reading.” They pointed out each person in turn, and Zira glanced at their sketchbook to compare likenesses.

“The way you draw hair is very unique,” he commented. “I love the way you change the thickness of the line.”

Crowley made a vague noise. “Thanks,” they mumbled. “Took me a long time to settle on how to draw it.”

“It’s a very appealing style. I never tire of seeing your art.”

Crowley shrugged. “I’m thinking of painting some more this weekend. D’you… I can send you pictures again. Or.” They ducked their head, and their shoulder-length hair formed a wall that blocked their face for a moment. They looked up an instant later, though not quite looking at Zira. “Or we could, um. FaceTime. Video call. You could watch me paint.”

Zira’s eyes crinkled in a huge smile. “I would like that very much, Crowley.”

Crowley froze for one single moment, mouth just slightly open, eyes directed at Zira past those dark glasses, before nodding and turning back to their sketchbook. Their cheeks were just slightly pink. “Right then. I’ll paint Saturday, and you can watch. Sounds… sounds good, angel.”

* * *

Friday, Crowley flounced their way into the cafe, irritation bubbling under their skin. Zira was already there at the table, waiting for them. “Crowley,” he said as soon as he saw them, face breaking into a grin, which fell slightly when he realized their sour mood. “Why, Crowley, whatever happened?”

“Hmmph.” Crowley did not deign him with any further reply, instead ordering a drink full of espresso and sprawling out in the chair across from Zira in a way that should not have been comfortable in any way. They vibrated with nervous energy.

“I see,” Zira said, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Crowley rolled their eyes behind their glasses and took a huge gulp of what was certainly a very hot beverage without even flinching. They sighed. They pinched the bridge of their nose. They sighed again. Then, with an elaborate flourish of their black-nail-varnished hand, they began a rant about a missed alarm, traffic on the M25, a run-in with Professor Sandalphon (the jackass), and their subsequent lateness to their first class of the day. “...and then, when I’m already running late and scrambling to pick up my papers from the floor after I fucking dropped them when he ran into me, he fucking  _ corners _ me and asks me if I’ve ‘come to my senses’ yet, whatever  _ that _ means. He has the fucking  _ audacity _ to ask me that, and really, angel, honestly, I was just about ready to bite his entire face off.

“And then he  _ trod  _ on my lecture notes,” they continued, now working themself up into a right fit, “and he called me  _ Crawley.” _

Zira let out an indignant little gasp. “He called you  _ what?” _

“He probably thought it was a funny little play on my name, since I was on my fucking knees on the floor trying to organize my lecture notes.” Crowley gestured with the wrong hand, and coffee sloshed onto the floor. “Shit!” they hissed. “God dammit, I can’t do anything right. Fuck my life.”

“It’s alright. You’re fine, Crowley,” Zira said, grabbing a few napkins and sliding onto the floor to clean up the spill. “There, see? Not terrible at all. Easily cleaned up.”

He got back into his seat only to find Crowley staring at him. He averted his eyes quickly, staring down at his tea. “It’s alright, Crowley,” he reiterated. “I can’t believe Sandalphon would talk to you like that.”

“I can,” Crowley muttered. “He’s friends with Gabriel.”

Zira winced. “That would explain it. I’m dreadfully sorry your day has been so terrible, Crowley. I certainly hope it will improve.”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched up slightly. “It already has, angel,” they said softly.

“I—oh,” Zira murmured, and his cheeks turned pink. “That’s very kind of you, Crowley.”

Crowley rolled their eyes again. “Yes, yes, I delight in your company. We already knew this. You’re not gonna hear it in those words again, though. Not from this mouth.”

Zira smiled, a private, sweet little thing, eyes twinkling behind his little round glasses. “Of course, my dear.”

The next time Zira looked over at Crowley’s sketchbook, he recognized his own face, rosy-cheeked and beaming. He decided not to comment.

* * *

The all-too-recognizable ringtone of FaceTime chimed from Zira’s over-priced iPhone which he had bought on a whim and almost never used for anything. Hastily, he pressed the button. “Crowley!” he exclaimed, face too close to the camera.

Crowley laughed. Their hair was tied up messily and they wore some sort of shapeless grey shirt which was smudged with multiple different colors of paint. “Move the camera away from your face a little, Zira. I can hardly see you.”

Zira made a flustered little noise and moved away slightly. “Are you ever awake before noon on a weekend?” he asked.

“Nnnnope.” Crowley grinned, and Zira noticed as they stepped away that they were cradling a palette in their left hand and brandishing a brush in their right.

“Did you at least eat something before this?”

Crowley rolled their eyes behind their ever-present sunglasses.  _ “Yes, _ angel, I promised I had lunch before this.”

Zira raised an eyebrow.

_ “Balanced, _ even. It was toasted cheese and some grapes. God, angel, you’re a terror.”

Zira opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a  _ mrrrp! _ from Crowley’s side, and then a huge orange cat took up the entire screen, its nose exaggerated as it sniffed at the camera. Zira laughed as Crowley swore at the cat. “What the f—Lucifer! Get the fuck down from there! You’re not supposed to be—how the hell did you even get in here? Get out, shoo!”

Lucifer  _ mrrp _ ed angrily and leapt off the table and out of frame, Crowley stalking after him, and Zira heard the distant sound of a door closing.

Crowley reappeared in the frame a moment later, shaking their head. “Sorry about that, angel. My cat is a monster.”

“He’s adorable,” Zira beamed.

“He’s a brat.”

“A treasure.”

“A fiend. A scoundrel.”

“A beautiful boy.”

“A beast.”

Zira laughed. “He’s a  _ cat, _ Crowley. They’re all little dictators. Very adorable little tyrants.”

Crowley rolled their eyes again. “Whatever you say, angel.”

“What are you going to paint?”

“Not sure yet,” Crowley answered. “I have some thumbnails lined up in my book, I just have to pick which one to use.” They glanced down at something Zira couldn’t see, possibly their sketchbook. “One of the ones with flowers, I think,” they continued slowly. “Yeah. Let’s do the one with the gladiolus flowers.” They looked back up at the canvas before them, their back mostly to Zira, canvas angled so he could see it, and began to lay down a layer of a muted purple paint. “I’m going to sketch out my lights and shadows in this hue first, and then lay down the details slowly. It’s not going to be a very polished piece, but I want there to be a clear image.”

Zira watched in fascination as Crowley created the shape of a slender person clutching a bouquet of gladioli, admired the tension already visible in the vague lines of the body. As Crowley sketched, it became clear that the figure was themself, their profile easily recognizable in the bowed head and flowing hair.

“Wow,” Zira said honestly. “You put a lot of thought into your sketches.”

“‘S mostly just intuition at this point,” Crowley answered absently. Their brush smudged more violet into the gesso.

Crowley next started on the color, painting their body in blues and lavenders, their hair in deep violet. The gladioli were a pale pink, a warm contrast to the cool blues. They blended in subtle color changes as they shaded, deepening the violet in their hair to indigo.

“The colors are beautiful,” Zira commented, sipping at his tea.

“Hnnk. Thanks,” Crowley mumbled.

“Really,” Zira insisted, “I very much enjoy the way you layer your colors. I could watch this all day.”

“You might get to,” Crowley answered, dodging the compliments expertly, “this is going to be a hell of a painting. I’m not even at the good part yet.”

Sure enough, they passed four o’clock and moved swiftly into five. As the sun went down outside the studio windows, Crowley moved to flick on more lights, bathing them in a more artificial light than the sun, and Zira thought absently that they looked lovely in any light. Eventually, they reached six o’clock. “Crowley,” Zira began as Crowley deepened the shadows on the face, “shouldn’t you get something to eat?”

“So should you,” Crowley answered mindlessly, “and I don’t see you doing that.”

“On the contrary,” Zira replied primly. “I have dinner on the stove right now. You missed me getting up to fix it.”

“Oh, did I?” Crowley actually looked up and over at Zira then. “Huh. What time is it?”

“Almost quarter past six at this point.”

“Really?” Crowley glanced at the painting, then back to Zira. “But I’m in the  _ zone. _ How can I leave and come back when I’m in the  _ zone? _ If I leave now this might never get done.”

“Go get something to eat, then you can come right back to this,” Zira encouraged. “I’ll keep you motivated, don’t worry.”

Crowley paused, and Zira thought he could detect a pink tint to their high cheekbones. “Alright,” they said eventually. “As long as you promise to keep me motivated. I don’t want to abandon this one.” Crowley picked up their phone, jostling the camera, and moved through their studio. “Don’t know what to eat. Probably just gonna eat ramen soup or something.”

“I can teach you how to make it healthier,” Zira offered. “It has the added bonus of not tasting terrible, as well.”

“It’s still fast though, right? I don’t have the energy for anything complicated.”

“Not in the slightest. As long as you have some basic spices and some eggs, you can do this.”

Crowley sighed and Zira watched them walk into their kitchen. “Alright, what do I need?”

“Put some water on to boil,” Zira instructed. “You’re going to boil an egg first. You can eat eggs, right?”

“I don’t have any food sensitivities or, erm. Restrictions,” Crowley agreed, filling a kettle with water and setting it on the stove.

“Marvellous.”

Zira led Crowley through the steps of boiling an egg, then cooking the noodles, then adding the spices for the broth. “Now slice the egg in half,” Zira directed, “and place it on top of the noodles, like a nest. Beautiful. You don’t have any scallions or green onions, do you? No? Well if you have dried minced onion you can sprinkle some of that on the top for flavor and texture. Perfect. And now you have a low-sodium, high-protein soup that should provide you with enough energy to finish this painting tonight! Congratulations.”

Crowley blushed. “Ah. Thanks,” they muttered, snagging a fork from their utensil drawer and digging in. Their eyes widened. “Fuck, this is good. Zira, how is this so good? Are you some sort of… of, of ramen witch? Or something?”

“I just like to experiment, really,” Zira answered modestly, “it’s nice to find what tastes good and is better for you.”

“You’re so good at this,” Crowley sighed, and shoveled another forkful of noodles into their mouth.

Zira fetched his own dinner a few minutes later, and they ate together and chatted about their classes until Crowley was done inhaling their ramen. “Right,” they said, tossing the bowl into the sink, “back to work.” They cracked their fingers (Zira winced) and strode back into their studio, phone in hand.

They painted late into the night, perfecting shadows and highlighting details on the flowers. Then, grinning, they brandished a palette knife. “Now for the fun part,” they declared.

“What’s the fun—oh!” Zira cried out in alarm as Crowley set to work smudging highlights of pastel yellow all around the head of their figure, then greens, then pinks, until the background of the painting was a chaos of smeared paint which sometimes became slathered across the main figure of the work. “I don’t see why you have to go and ruin all that lovely detail with a palette knife,” Zira huffed.

“Just wait, angel. It’s gonna look  _ so cool  _ when I’m done here.”

Zira wasn’t so sure, until Crowley stepped back from the painting and turned the easel towards the camera. Zira gasped.

The painting, though smudged with odd blocks and drips of color, was beautifully composed. The pale colors of the background and the smears across the main subject directed the eye to the figure’s tense, shadowed face and the bright pink gladioli they stared at. “See?” Crowley said from out of frame. “It all turned out well.”

“It certainly did,” Zira breathed. “Crowley, this is beautiful.”

“Gngk, hmnphgk, nahhh, it’s nothing so special. Do this kind of thing all the time.”

“Crowley, it took you twelve and a half hours. You put so much time and energy into this painting. It looks… it’s amazing. Really and truly.”

“Njknbnmk. Uhhh. Thanks, angel. That’s… I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, very much. Unfortunately,” he continued, glancing at the clock, “it’s past one in the morning and I’m very tired, so I think I’m going to go to sleep very soon here.”

“Yeah, good idea, angel. I’m gonna clean up here and then go to bed, too.”

“Thank you for being responsible.”

“Hey, angel? D’you… want to get together for grading again tomorrow?”

“Well… yes, actually, as a matter of fact. I would very much enjoy that. How does three sound?”

“Fantastic. We can have tea.”

“Tea and work it is. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, angel.”

Crowley hung up, trying to ignore the strange, blossoming feeling in their chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: crowley cannot lock away their feelings anymore. Prepare Ur Asses folks, the Yearning is about to begin.  
as always, thank u for reading, gift me with a comment if u enjoyed! tell me if u like tea, coffee, or cocoa the best, and maybe what ur doing for the holidays! happy holiday season, i hope all u cold-climate folks don't get snowed in like im about to, and i'll see u maaaaaybe wednesday or thursday (if i can get these final projects done lmao)


	8. Here We Go Again (Mama Mia!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday, things go downhill. Crowley struggles, Zira helps, and feelings begin to be felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS SORRY FOR THE DELAY I SWEAR I HAVE GOOD REASONS. SO i finished my first semester of my sophomore year of college and escaped with a 4.0 GPA. i moved into a NEW HOUSE and it was a STRUGGLE. i attended TWO FAMILY REUNIONS. and i started working again so i can afford to STUDY ABROAD. anyway it's just past the solstice so blessed solstice to my pagan and witchy friends, it's Hanukkah so happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish readers and friends out there, and it's almost Christmas so happy Christmas to those who celebrate!!!! i am TIRED but this is my gift to you! let the yearning commence! im hoping to start posting regularly again but my work schedule is WILD so no promises :') 
> 
> anyway the poem in this chapter is "the living beauty" by yeats and it's so fucking beautiful OKAY I'LL SHUT UP NOW PLEASE ENJOY THE TENDERNESS
> 
> **warning for those with emetophobia in this chapter, migraines are no joke**

Things were going so well all week. Crowley sped through lectures with their class, providing them with all the knowledge they would need for their mid-term exam the next week. They ate with Zira every afternoon and sketched in the cafe, they drew up thumbnails for upcoming projects they wanted to complete (but probably never would), and they even got adequate rest every night (Zira’s fault for telling them to go to bed, resulting in them actually listening).

Things, as said before, were going splendidly.

Thursday, however, things abruptly went downhill.

Thursday, Crowley and Zira were walking to the Japanese restaurant nearby to satisfy Zira's incessant sushi cravings. The sunshine was bright on the light dusting of snow they had gotten the night before, and everything glittered.

Everything glittered, and the light pierced through Crowley’s glasses. They blinked a few times. The world kaleidoscoped around them. They blinked again. The effect didn’t go away, and on top of it, their ears began to ring. Suddenly, they felt very, very woozy, almost like they were floating up and away from their body. “Hnn,” they managed, before staggering and almost falling against Zira. “Shit,” they mumbled, “don’t feel so good.”

“Crowley? You’ve gone pale, what’s the matter?” Zira said. Then, “Crowley!” he cried as Crowley’s knees buckled unexpectedly under them and they found themself sitting suddenly on the ground with no idea how they got there.

“Got a little dizzy,” Crowley muttered. “Think it’s a migraine.”

“Oh,” Zira breathed. “I… here, I’ll help you back. Do you have medication?”

“Back in my office.” Crowley made a small noise of displeasure as Zira helped them up, one arm firmly around their waist, and let them lean against him as he led them back to the visual arts building.

Crowley somehow managed to direct Zira to their office, though they could barely hear themself past the static ringing in their ears, and they slumped gratefully in their desk chair as they fumbled in a drawer for the bottle of pills. Their hands shook as they struggled to unscrew the cap, and it took three tries to get it open. Hastily, they dumped two tablets into their palm and downed them before grabbing a half-empty bottle of water on their desk and gulping a few mouthfuls, then sat back in their chair, eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of the chair.

“Are you going to be alright?” Zira asked worriedly.

“Eventually,” Crowley assured him. “Just gotta… wait for it to go away.”

“And when will that be?”

“...Anywhere from 6 hours to two days. This one’s brutal, which hopefully means it’s not gonna last as long,” Crowley breathed. Their stomach was churning from the stabbing pain in their temple. “Don’t worry, angel, it’s gonna be… it’s gonna—” Suddenly, horribly, their stomach lurched, and they heaved forward to retch awfully onto the floor. “Ugh,” they groaned, wiping the back of a shaking hand across their mouth. “Sorry you had to see that.” They took a few slower drinks from the water bottle. "Gonna have to clean that up," they mumbled.

“You sit,” Zira said gently, “I’ll take care of it.”

Crowley looked as though they were going to argue, but were too tired to actually do anything about it, and they gave him a tired nod.

“Thank you,” Zira said, and ducked out of the office. He tracked down a roll of kitchen towels in the professors’ lounge and made his way back to Crowley’s office, where he dropped down onto his knees and set about cleaning up the nauseating mess.

“Y’don’t have to do that,” Crowley protested weakly.

“Who else is going to?” Zira said. Mess cleaned up and towels disposed of, he washed his hands and then returned to Crowley once more. “Come on, my dear,” he said gently. “I’m not letting you drive like this, we can take the bus back.”

“We?” Crowley mumbled. “You don’t need to go back with me, angel, really. Just… just get me to the stop and I’ll get myself home. I’ll be fine.”

Zira frowned. “If you’re certain, Crowley.”

“You shouldn’t miss classes because of me.”

Zira knew. Of course he knew. He had classes to teach, and responsibilities to stay on top of, and certainly Crowley had done this many times before.

“I just feel awful leaving you like this,” he confessed. “I must admit, I’m dreadfully worried about you, Crowley.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be,” they said, their tone laced with some amusement. “Happens to me all the time. I know what I’m capable of. I can take the bus on my own, angel.”

“You’re right. But I’m going to wait with you until the coach arrives,” Zira decided, his tone taking on a no-nonsense quality that Crowley couldn’t have argued with if they’d wanted to.

“Fine,” they said, and then Zira was leading them back out into the crisp, cold day and the too-bright sunshine.

He walked them to the stop, and true to his word, he sat with Crowley, a book of poetry open on his lap, reading quietly to himself as Crowley shivered beside him. “You’re cold,” he commented after a few minutes, and then he pulled off his hat and stuck it on Crowley’s head. His blond hair poofed out around his head, free of its prison, and Crowley stared at him in befuddlement.

“What was that for?”

“You’re cold,” Zira repeated with a smug little smile. “Really, Crowley, you ought to start wearing more layers. Especially with your health as fragile as it is.”

“Not  _ fragile,” _ Crowley muttered petulantly, but they didn’t remove the hat. Zira noted with contentment that Crowley’s shivering had died down.

Another few minutes of silence passed, and then, slowly, Crowley began to lean towards Zira’s shoulder. He didn’t stop them, even as they gave into their exhaustion and leaned fully on Zira. “What’re you reading?” they asked drowsily.

“Yeats,” Zira said, tilting the book slightly so Crowley could see the poetry.

“Oh. You read poetry for fun?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love poetry. Especially Yeats, he’s one of my favorites.”

“Hmm.”

[“_I'll say and maybe dream I have drawn content,”_](https://poets.org/poem/living-beauty) Zira said softly, then paused. Crowley shifted, but did not argue, so Zira continued.

_ “Seeing that time has frozen up the blood, _

_ The wick of youth being burned and the oil spent— _

_ From beauty that is cast out of a mould _

_ In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears, _

_ Appears, but when we have gone is gone again, _

_ Being more indifferent to our solitude _

_ Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old, _

_ The living beauty is for younger men, _

_ We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.” _

“‘S nice,” Crowley murmured, muffled by Zira’s jumper and coat. “Yeats is good.”

Zira smiled, and read another.

When the coach pulled up, Crowley made to remove the hat and give it back, but Zira secured it on their head with a firm yank and said, “You can give it back tomorrow. Go get some rest.”

Crowley nodded blearily. “Yeah. Yeah, erm. Thanks, angel. I’m gonna… gonna do that.” And with that, they clambered onto the coach, and Zira waved goodbye to them before returning to campus just in the nick of time to have completely missed his next class. Oh, well. Sometimes, these things were worth missing.

* * *

Crowley almost missed their stop, but they managed to drag themself up off the seat where they were slouched and stagger from the coach, probably looking more drunk than ill. Somehow, they managed to lurch their way through the village to their cottage, and they slammed the door closed and collapsed onto their sofa, face-down, glasses smushing into the bridge of their nose.

They remained like that for a very long time.

Eventually, when the pain in their head wasn’t screaming quite so loudly, they sat up, pulled off their glasses, kicked off their shoes, and stumbled to bed, yanking off their shirt and jeans and Zira’s hat with the ridiculous bobble on it and burrowing under the comforter, where they quickly fell asleep.

They woke after the sun had gone down, stomach turning threateningly. When they sat up, their head pounded something terrible, and their vision swam. At least the room was dark. What time was it? Disoriented, they searched for their phone, only to come to the realization that it was probably out in their front room somewhere, lost amongst the sofa cushions. They groaned. “Just my luck,” they muttered, and flopped back onto their bed.

Unbidden, their thoughts drifted to Zira. He’d really been willing to take the bus all the way home with them, hadn’t he? He’d given Crowley his woolen hat, a stupid thing with stripes round it and something puffy and tasselly on the top that nevertheless had warmed Crowley’s ears (and their heart, somewhat). He’d read Crowley  _ poetry, _ some ridiculous sappy thing by Yeats that somehow still managed to capture Crowley’s attention. Their mind drifted, unbidden, to the small, soft smile Zira had given them when their head had leaned against his shoulder, to the look of unmasked concern on Zira’s face when they’d stumbled and fallen in the street. The way he effortlessly rescheduled his day around Crowley to make sure they were safe and cared for.

Crowley felt sick. No, not sick. It was a feverish, stomach-churning, heart-fluttering feeling and yet they didn’t feel  _ bad, _ just very, very  _ strange. _ Floaty.

It was probably the migraine, they decided as they drifted back into a restless sleep.

* * *

It wasn’t the migraine.

Crowley lay flat on their back, staring at their ceiling, golden sunlight leaking through a crack in their black-out drapes and crawling across the white-washed plaster above them. It wasn’t the migraine causing the heart-fluttering, stomach-knotting, fever-warm feeling resting somewhere in their ribcage. Sure, the headache was still there, an ice pick chiselling away at their temple and just behind their eye, but that was background noise to whatever was coming to life in their chest.

Crowley decided that maybe if they didn’t think about it, it would go away, and settled in for another nap, solidifying the decision they’d made when they first woke up to stay home and sleep away the migraine. If they didn’t think about whatever soft thing was waking up in their chest, it would go back to sleep.

Or maybe it would die.

* * *

That all went out the window Saturday. They had woken up to a text from Zira earlier that morning asking how they were feeling, and they updated him accordingly.

**Feeling much better, angel. Headache’s gone now**

_ Splendid! In that case, can I bring you some lunch? _

**Lunch sounds great, angel.**

_ Lovely. I know just the thing to put you in tip-top shape again. _

**Oh yeah?**

_ I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, my dear. It’s a surprise. _

**Fine.**

Crowley texted him their address, and then promptly collapsed back into bed and scrolled through Instagram for an indeterminate amount of time until suddenly two hours had passed and the doorbell was ringing chipperly.

They sat up, realized they were in yesterday’s T-shirt and lounge pants, decided they didn’t care, yanked on an oversized pullover hoodie, gathered their messy hair into a loose tail, and shuffled to the door, sunglasses abandoned. At least their migraine had subsided.

Blinking blearily against the sunlight, they pulled open the front door, and there stood Zira. “Crowley,” he said, his face lighting up instantly, “oh, I do hope I’m not intruding.”

Crowley stared. For a moment, they completely forgot that they had practically invited Zira to come and wondered why the hell he was there. Then they remembered and stared some more, because Zira was  _ here _ and his face  _ lit up _ seeing Crowley.

Oh, shit. He was cute.

Crowley sighed. “You’re not, I’m just a mess. Come in.”

Zira did, stepping over the threshold and brandishing a wicker basket. “Lunch,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, blinking at him.

“Hm,” Zira said softly. Crowley realized that he hadn’t looked away from their face in several moments. “That’s new.”

“What?” Crowley asked, somewhat indignant.

“It’s only,” Zira paused. “Your glasses. You’re not wearing them.”

“Yeah, I’m in my own home,” Crowley groused. “Don’t have to wear ‘em here, it’s dim enough most of the time.”

“I don’t—I don’t have a problem with it, dear. Only, you have very nice eyes is all.”

“I. Hm. Hngk. Right.” Crowley floundered. "Thhhhanks?" they tried.

Zira just smiled. "I made you some soup," he said, stepping further into Crowley's obsessively tidy, minimalist front room and looking around the space. He held up the basket once more. Faintly, something sloshed in a container inside. "I hope you don't have anything against vegetable soup?"

Crowley shook their head. "Nah. C'mon, kitchen's this way." They made their way to their kitchen, full of sleek stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops, and pulled out some bowls and spoons from various drawers and cabinets. “Here, we can put the soup in these.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered, and sat down on a bar stool at the island. “What’s in the soup?”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” Zira hummed, smiling a little. “Old family recipe. Lots of secrets in there.” He tapped the side of his nose, peering over his round glasses, and Crowley barely caught themself before they swooned. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Crowley croaked, and watched Zira remove a container of rich-looking soup from the basket along with what looked like fresh-baked rolls and dole out two servings. It smelled amazing.

Sitting on the stool beside Crowley, Zira pushed a bowl towards Crowley, who dug in almost immediately. They hadn’t realized how hungry they were until they smelled what Zira had cooked for them, and suddenly the fact that they’d hardly eaten anything in two days had caught up with them.

“Angel, holy fuck,” they managed. “This is so fucking good.”

Zira smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I’m so glad you like it, Crowley.”

“Mrrow!”

Zira looked down. Lucifer looked back up. “Mrrow?” the cat repeated, his one good eye wide, trying his best to look adorable.

“Oh,” Zira gasped. “Crowley, your cat is so beautiful!”

“Not so loud,” Crowley grumbled, “his ego’s already huge.”

"Oh, oh," Zira gushed, seemingly completely overcome, "Crowley, what  _ is  _ his name?" He reached down, nearly falling off the stool in his eagerness to pet the cat, and Crowley rolled their eyes.

"His name's Lucifer, because he's an absolute demon of a cat. Don't trust his cute face, he can and will rip you to shreds."

"Oh, he's nothing but a big sweetheart," Zira crooned, scratching the creature under its white chin.

Lucifer looked at Crowley smugly and had the audacity to  _ purr. _

Crowley sighed a long, put-upon sigh. “Sure, angel, whatever you say.” They inhaled a few more spoonfuls of Zira’s delicious soup before saying, “I, er. I also have a snake.”

“A snake?” Zira exclaimed, whipping around to pin Crowley in place with a beaming smile. “Oh, I’ve never met someone who had a pet snake before! Well, I did, but she was a little odd, and I never  _ met _ her snake! Can I—can I meet your snake? It’s, well, it’s alright if I can’t but I really would like to, snakes are  _ so _ delightful.” He bit his lip suddenly, and the warm feeling in Crowley’s chest came back full force. “Oh, do forgive my rambling. I’m sure my incessant talking can be  _ so _ tiring—”

And just like that, Crowley’s voice came back. “No, nonono angel. I, well. I like listening to you talk.” Immediately, Crowley shoved their spoon in their mouth and mentally cursed themself out. When they were certain they weren’t about to say something dumb again, they drew the utensil out and said, “What I mean is, yes, you can meet my snake, after I’m done eating. Her name is Lilith.”

“Lilith?” Zira’s brow furrowed. “Like the ancient Sumerian demon? Or like Adam’s first wife?”

Crowley beamed. “Look at you go, religion professor! Got it in one! I like demons and demonology a lot, always found it quite interesting. Lilith is a fantastic character in both Jewish and Sumerian texts, but I especially like her character in the Genesis Rabbah. She didn’t take shit from Adam. And there are some quite fantastic depictions of her, especially in the Renaissance period. I love Michelangelo’s depiction of her, even though it’s not entirely accurate. Very snakey. ‘S why I called my snake Lilith.”

“It’s quite brilliant, dear,” Zira smiled. “You certainly have a lot of religious studies under your own belt, it seems. Now, come, finish your lunch! You look peaky, I suppose you’ve been forgetting to eat?”

“Not  _ forgetting, _ just… not hungry,” Crowley mumbled, and shoveled another spoonful into their mouth.

They ate two bowls of soup.

* * *

“Oh, Crowley, she’s simply  _ lovely!” _ Zira exclaimed softly as Crowley let the snake taste the air around Zira. She coiled herself around Crowley’s arm like a tree branch and flickered her little tongue out, stretching her neck towards him.

“She likes you,” Crowley said with a smile.

“I like her, too,” Zira murmured, and hesitantly stretched out a hand. “May I…?”

Crowley nodded, and Zira reached out and booped the snake on her nose. Zira laughed. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Crowley stared. Oh, that was too fucking cute. Their heart couldn’t handle that.  _ Keep it together, _ they scolded themself.  _ You and your sodding crushes. You always fall for the soft ones. _

“It’s, erm. It’s great to get to do it all the time,” they managed. “She doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t care who’s handling her, really, as long as I give her a mouse after. Greedy thing.”

Zira stayed to admire Lilith for a few more minutes, but eventually sighed and said, “Well, I really ought to be going. It’s midterm this week and I have a lot of material to cover before the exams at the end of the week.”

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered, slipping Lilith back into her aquarium. “Guess I have to do that, too.”

“Yes, you have a lot of class time to make up,” Zira said sympathetically. “Good luck, dear.”

He gathered up his basket, leaving the soup in Crowley’s refrigerator with the strict instruction to not let any of it go to waste, and headed for the door. He was halfway out when Crowley cried, “Wait! Shit!” and dashed for their room, snatching up Zira’s hat. They skidded back into the front room and thrust the hat towards Zira. “You—this is yours,” they panted.

“Oh,” Zira said, and smiled warmly. “Keep it, dear. I have more. Good-bye! I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday,” Crowley repeated, voice strangled.

“Right, toodle-oo!” And he was gone.

“Toodle-oo?” Crowley said weakly, several long moments after he’d already driven down the road and out of sight.

Oh, they were such a fucking goner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rly hope u guys liked this!!!! drop a comment and a kudos to give me a gift for the holidays!!!!! next chapter: it's midterm and our professors have so much shit to grade :)
> 
> notable excerpts from my outline for this chapter:  
-Crowley: *minding their own fucking business*  
the migraine: howdy  
Crowley: *instant ko*  
-Crowley is Weak and also Soft  
-This chapter is a real Shit Show for Crowley


	9. Past, Present, Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets called out on their bullshit by multiple people. Zira gets a phone call. Crowley introduces Zira to their friends. Another long night of grading comes to an unexpected close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS it's been a HOT MINUTE HUH. Anyway I'm not dead and I just wanted to take a moment here at the beginning of this chapter to thank you guys for sticking around through all of my bullshit! This holiday season was c r a z y let me tell you. But it's calming down now and while I've been stuck with seasonal depression and what have you and struggling with the motivation to write, you guys have FLOODED my inbox with comments! I can't believe this. You guys are too much. So here I am, motivated, and writing some soft stuff just for you!
> 
> Teeny tiny warning for implied family drama/conflict in a few scenes, although it's really vague and only hinted at a few times. Just don't want to make you guys sad without ample warning :)
> 
> Anyway take whatever this is. I was feeling really soft when I wrote this. Love u guys

Sunday, Crowley had therapy, as they always did. They told their therapist about Zira, as they had been doing since they’d met him. Their therapist asked them if they had any feelings for Zira, as she always did. They waved her off with a “Nah, I’m not the type to catch feelings,” as per usual. She rolled her eyes and called them out on their bullshit.

“I know,” Crowley mumbled, and their face found its way into their hands. “I’m a damned liar. I… he’s so kind, and gentle, and quiet, until you spend a lot of time around him. And then he’s… funny. Interesting. Complex. A bit of a bastard, but he’s… he’s so  _ good.” _

“You say ‘good’ as if it’s a problem,” she observed. “Is it a problem?”

“For me it is,” Crowley muttered to their lap. “I know he’s better than me. I know he is. I’m rude and loud and I can be really obnoxious, and I forget important things all the time. I yell and get really angry sometimes, no matter how hard I try to control my emotions. I just… I don’t want him to see that. Because he’ll get scared off, and he’ll know… he’ll know how bad I am compared to him.”

“You’re not bad,” she told them gently. “You’re not bad, because you can acknowledge your faults. Because you can see what you do wrong and you want to fix them.”

Crowley sighed. “Maybe,” they said. “But I don’t… he won’t like me when he sees my other side. I know he won’t. Everyone else…”

“Do you think he’s like everyone else?” she asked them.

“No.” They sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t want him to be. I don’t think he is. But… but I can’t…”

“You don’t think you can take that chance.” She nodded. “I understand. It’s hard to take risks after what you’ve experienced. You’ve established a routine and a way of life that’s become familiar and comfortable to you, and you don’t want to disturb the status quo. I’m proud of you for knowing what might be risky for your own mental health at this point. I think we both know right now that a rejection from Zira would hurt you far too much.”

Crowley nodded. “Can I leave now?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you, Crowley.”

“See you.”

* * *

Afterwards, Anathema came to visit Crowley. She swept into their house in one of her long skirts, hair pulled up in a knot, and said, “AJ, hey, let me do a reading for you!”

Crowley sighed, shaking their head, but sat down at the table and gestured for her to do the same. “Fine. ‘S all nonsense anyway.”

“It’s not,” she frowned good-naturedly. “It’s magic.”

She shuffled the cards, then held them towards Crowley. “Here, pick one. Don’t look at it.”

They did so, drawing a card out of the spread and placing it down in front of them.

“That’s your past,” she said, “pick another.” They did. “That’s your present. The next one.” They did so. “And that’s your future. Now let’s look at what you have.”

They flipped the cards over.

“Alright. First is your past. That’s the Four of Wands, reversed.” She frowned. “You had some family conflict in your past, it seems. You had trouble determining where home is. You were conflicted, and weren’t able to settle anywhere.”

Crowley bit their lip.

“Next is your present. You drew the Four of Cups. You’re feeling unmotivated. Maybe you’ve been doing the same routine for far too long, and you need to introduce something new. Maybe you’re feeling lost or uninspired. Re-evaluate yourself so you can find your passion again, or discover a new passion.”

Crowley nodded.

“Finally, your future. You drew the World.” She grinned. “This is a wonderful card to draw for your future, AJ. It means that in the future, near or far, you are going to find fulfillment, harmony, and completion in your life. All your efforts will finally pay off, and you will feel complete. The World can also imply a major life event, like marriage or a career success or a big trip.”

“Marriage,” Crowley scoffed. “I’m not the marriage type, Ana, you know that.”

“I know,” she said amusedly, “which is why I also mentioned a career success. Why so focused on the marriage bit, AJ?”

“Just thought it was weird for you to mention it when you  _ know  _ me, Ana.” Crowley scowled at the table.

She shrugged. “You never know, AJ. Keep an open mind about this stuff. You never know when things might change.”

Crowley stared at the World card. Why were they getting so worked up over this? It was all nonsense anyway, right?

Right?

* * *

Sunday evening, Zira’s telephone rang shrilly, startling him out of the book he was reading. Fumbling to set the book down on the cluttered coffee table without dropping it, he scrambled out of his armchair and answered the phone as it reached its last ring. “Hello?” he said.

“Andrew,” said a voice he hadn’t heard in over twenty years. “It’s about your father.”

His face paled. “Oh, dear,” he breathed into the receiver. “What happened?”

He listened to the voice on the other end for a few moments, nodding along as his eyes grew wide as saucers behind his spectacles and his expression grew more and more drawn. “He’ll live. They know that much, at least. Your mother wasn’t even going to call you,” the voice said, “but I really thought you should know.”

“Ah,” he said faintly, and sank heavily into the chair at his desk. “I see.” He felt as though he might be sick. “Is… did he…?”

A sigh. “No.” 

He nodded again, his free hand coming up to tug at a button on his cardigan. “Right. I didn’t… I didn’t think he would, but… I had to know. Just in case.”

“This doesn’t change anything, Andrew. Please don’t call this number.”

“Yes. Thank you for calling me. I hope—I hope everything is well otherwise.” His voice shook. “Erm. Goodbye.”

He rang off, and sat staring at the telephone for a long, long time, eyes brimming with something long-buried and terrified. Then, he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, pressed his face into his hands, and cried quietly as the London streets grew dark and the city went to sleep.

* * *

Half-term came in a flurry of lectures and last-minute organization. Crowley and Zira alike were run breathless with questions from their students as they hurried everyone along towards the exams at the end of the week. Zira had little time to think about the phone call which had transpired just the night before, pushing the issue from his mind to deal with it when he wasn’t already struggling to survive the endless torrents of questions and answers and lecture notes he was buried under.

Lunchtime was a welcome respite for both of them, Zira relieved to get the chance to simply walk down the street and breathe in the fresh air as he headed for their customary cafe. However, when he walked in the door, he found Crowley already sitting with someone: a dark-haired young woman wearing large glasses and an old-fashioned dress and cradling a cup of green tea as she talked excitedly with Crowley.

Crowley looked up and, when they saw Zira, shot him a huge grin and gestured for him to come over. “Angel!” they said, and Zira did not miss the way the woman shot Crowley a rather bemused glance. “This is Dr Anathema Device, astronomy and astrology professor here at St Beryl’s.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr Device,” Zira said, and held out a hand, which Anathema shook with a faint smile. She was very pretty. 

“Anathema is fine,” she said in a quiet, faintly accented voice. “And you must be Zira Fell. AJ won’t shut up about you.”

Crowley blushed. “That’s not true, exactly,” they said to the table, which they apparently suddenly found quite interesting.

“You… talk about me, to other people?” Zira said quietly.

“Erm. Yeah,” Crowley mumbled, face bright red at this point.

Zira felt a little nauseous. Crowley wouldn’t make fun of him when he wasn’t around, right? Sure, he knew he wasn’t the most interesting person Crowley knew, but Crowley wouldn’t say cruel things about him. They wouldn’t. They  _ liked _ Zira. Zira was their  _ friend. _

Right?

“‘S just. You’re my best friend, right now, so. I talk about you to my other friends. ‘Cos they should know all the things I like about you.” Crowley was speaking very fast now, eyes fixed anywhere but on Zira. “And Ana wanted to meet you, because she asked me why I wasn’t texting her so much anymore and I said it was because I was texting  _ you _ all the time, and then she wanted to know  _ why _ I was texting you so much, and—”

“AJ, take a  _ breath,” _ Anathema laughed. “It’s fine. I’m sure Zira’s not angry, just surprised. Right, Zira?”

Zira took a deep breath in. This wasn’t like his other friends. This wasn’t Todd. “Right,” he said, and slid into the chair next to Crowley. “So, what sort of information have you been spreading without my knowledge, my dear?”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, the most heinous knowledge, angel. Things you’d never want  _ anyone _ to hear. Like how great of a cook you are, or how you swear when you’re drunk.”

Zira huffed. “That was  _ not  _ swearing, and I do swear at other times as well.”

“Really?” Crowley said, eyes wide. “I’ve never heard it. Say fuck right now, angel.”

“No,” Zira said primly.

Anathema snorted.

“Coward,” Crowley said.

_ “So, _ Anathema,” Zira said pointedly, turning to the young woman, “Crowley told me that you teach astronomy here?”

“And astrology,” she said eagerly. “I’m a witch. I believe the universe is full of magic.”

“And I believe you might be right, dear girl,” Zira said. “Ah, I’ve always been such a romantic for magicks. Are you wiccan as well?”

“Nonreligious,” she said.

“Ah,” he nodded. “I’m a student of world religions, past and present, and I have always enjoyed the studies I’ve done on the pagan and wiccan witchcrafts. You believe, then, that magic comes from…?”

“The universe. Nature. The world around us. No spirits, no deities. Just common, worldly magic.”

Zira nodded. “Absolutely fascinating, dear. Did you know…”

* * *

The next day, Anathema joined them once more, and this time, she brought her wife. “And this is my wife, Newt,” she said, gesturing to the brown-haired, casually-dressed, awkward-looking woman beside her.

Newt waved nervously. “Hi,” she said.

“Hello, dear girl,” Zira beamed. “How did you two meet?”

“Online,” Anathema said. “We actually started dating before either of us came out. I was so nervous, too. I was going to break up with her, so I sat her down, and I told her, ‘Newt, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m a lesbian.’ And she looked at me with this look of utter relief on her face, and she said—”

“‘Oh, thank God, cause I’m a woman,’” Newt finished, laughing. “It was great. We knew we were meant to be, then.”

“I’ve been right there for her her entire transition,” Anathema said, and Zira saw her squeeze Newt’s hand. “She just got her gender marker changed officially a few months ago.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Zira exclaimed. “You make such a lovely couple. It’s so nice to see how far we’ve come.”

Anathema beamed. “And it’s so nice to be supported here. We haven’t always been met with respect, but we’ve been blessed with good luck among family and friends since we started dating.”

Zira felt a small, jealous pang in his chest at that, but swallowed it down with grace and said, “I’m so happy for the both of you. Newt, do you teach as well?”

Newt shook her head, eyes wide. “No, I could never—I mean, I’m not good at talking in front of people. I can barely talk to Ana without stammering sometimes.” She gave Anathema a nervous but fond smile. “But she puts up with me.”

Zira swallowed down another pang. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that. “It’s very nice to see you young people still out here finding love and being yourselves,” he said instead, and the conversation moved along quickly after that.

* * *

Wednesday, Anathema and Newt were replaced by a much older woman with orange hair which was obviously a home dye job, garish makeup caked onto her face, and dressed in brightly-colored, psychedelic, sixties-esque clothing which should not have looked good together and yet it did. She was draped in gauzy scarves and dripped with fake jewelry and sat with her ankles crossed daintily to one side of her chair as she spoke with Crowley.

Zira immediately liked her.

“Angel,” Crowley said in greeting as Zira joined them at the table, “this is Professor Dolores Potts.”

“Madame Tracy, long story,” the woman gushed, smiling at Zira somewhere behind the lipstick and fake lashes and twiddling long-nailed fingers at him. “So this is the famed Zira Fell. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, love. I’ve heard lots about you from this one.”

“And it is ever so lovely to meet you, Madame. What do you teach here?”

“Oh, you know, this and that. Crafts, pottery. Divination on Fridays.” She winked at him. “Special classes for discerning gentlemen on weekends.”

“Oh, no no no no,” Crowley said hastily,  _ “please, _ Tracy, please, he doesn’t need to know about that.”

“Don’t worry, Crowley,” Zira said, eyes crinkling in a mischievous little smile. “If I ever have any need for those special classes I’ll be sure to come calling.”

Crowley turned bright red, made a  _ ngk _ sound, and smashed their face into the table, wrapping their arms around their head and muttering something about angels and innocence.

“Oh, my dear Crowley,” Zira grinned. “I am anything but innocent.”

Tracy laughed. “Oh, Crowley, I like him!” She turned to Zira. “I quite understand if I’m not your type, love. Feel free to stop in my office for tea and biscuits any time, though. Door’s always open to you and your friends.”

Zira’s smile turned genuine. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That really is very kind of you, my dear woman. I will be sure to take you up on that offer. I haven’t many friends, though, so I’m afraid that it will be just myself, and Crowley, I suppose, if they decide to accompany me.”

“Nonsense. A lovely fellow like yourself not having friends? That’ll be the day,” Tracy said. 

Zira looked down at his clasped hands sitting in his lap, his cheeks heating slightly even as his expression fell. “Yes, well,” he mumbled to the floor.

Tracy seemed to catch on immediately, and Zira was too busy looking at the floor to see the flash of pity that crossed her face. “Well,” she said after a moment of fumbling, “those who have turned you away don’t know what they’re missing. Don’t worry, love, I’m an expert at matchmaking. I’ll find you some friends in no time.”

Crowley lifted their head just in time to see the look of shock and bemused joy spread across Zira’s face. “Yeah,” they said quietly, “she does this to everyone.”

“It’s wonderful,” Zira breathed, and gave Crowley a teary smile. “Thank you, Tracy,” he said sincerely. “It truly is wonderful to have met someone like you.”

* * *

Thursday and Friday were a rush of exams, last-minute copy-machine visits, aborted breakroom naps, and one staff meeting. By the time Crowley and Zira made it to lunch Friday, they were nearly asleep at the table at the cafe. Conversation between the pair was stilted by exhaustion, and neither was insulted by the other’s lack of anything interesting to say. Friday night, they both went to bed early and slept late Saturday, justifying the sloth to themselves as having “deserved a nice rest.”

**Morning, angel**

_ It is two in the afternoon, my dear, it hardly constitutes as morning at this point. _

**I just woke up, therefore it’s morning**

_ Dear me. You really were quite tired, weren’t you? _

**So were you, if I recall. When did you wake up?**

_ … _

**Angel? When did you wake up?**

_ Half an hour ago. _

**AHAHAHAHAHAHA**

_ Yes, yes, quite funny. _

_ Must you laugh at me? _

**I’m not laughing at you, angel.**

_ You are. :c _

**Am not. Just thought it funny that the perfect Zira Fell slept til half one.**

_ I was tired! It’s been quite a long week. Besides, you’re one to talk, sleeping til two in the afternoon. _

**Not that far past my usual wake-up on Saturdays.**

_ Ah yes, you rise at noon on weekends. I’d forgotten. _

**Any plans for today, angel?**

_ Get started on grading, I suppose. I have folder upon folder of essays and exams to read through and only a week to finish them. _

**I’m not bothering to grade until next weekend.**

_ Right before classes start? That’s not very wise of you. Why not get it done early so you have the rest of the week to do what you like without worrying about responsibilities? _

**You may have a point.**

_ Care to come over this evening and work together again? _

**Wasn’t planning anything else for today, so I might as well.**

_ I’m flattered. _

**Was that sarcasm?**

_ Might have been. _

**You really are a bit of a bastard, you know that?**

_ And you really are quite nice, when you try. :) _

**Sdjkfaskjlfskj.**

_ :) _

* * *

Crowley showed up on Zira’s doorstep at half past five. Their bag, slung carelessly over their shoulder, was stuffed full of filing folders, loose papers, and their ancient and battered Mac. “Ready when you are, angel,” they said, pushing past their friend as soon as he opened the door. As per usual, they took a moment to stop inside and process the ever-present chaos that affected the atmosphere of Zira’s cozy flat. “Smells different,” they said once they were able to function again. “Are you cooking?”

“Yes, I thought I’d prepare dinner again, since you’ll probably be here for a while. I’ve got some wine as well, if you’re in the mood.”

“That’s a bad idea, angel,” Crowley grinned, “I love it.” They moved further into the flat, towards the familiar sitting-room-slash-office in which they always did their work. “What’re you making tonight?”

“Oh, it’s this delightful recipe I found quite by accident,” Zira said, lighting up as soon as he got the opportunity to talk about food. “It’s this  [ vegetarian lasagna recipe ](http://yestoyolks.com/2013/11/10/butternut-squash-sage-goat-cheese-lasagna/) and you make it with butternut squash, of all things. It’s absolutely delicious. And I think I’ve got just the Zinfandel to pair it with.”

“Sounds interesting,” Crowley said. “You know I’ll try anything you cook. I’m sure I’ll like it.” They flung themself down onto the overstuffed sofa and sprawled out across it. Zira shook his head from the doorway of the room. “Well, c’mon then, those exams aren’t going to grade themselves,” Crowley said with a sweep of their long arm.

Zira rolled his eyes but joined Crowley in the room, retrieving his own folder of exams before sitting down. “I must say, I’m not looking forward to this,” Zira confessed, frowning as he opened the first folder.

Crowley, who was already flipping through a packet of papers and scratching at it with a red pen, said, “‘S not that bad, when you get into it.”

Zira sighed and got to work. “It’s just frightfully dull, Crowley. Though, sometimes the essays my students write are very well-researched. It’s the ones that  _ aren’t _ written well which make me dread going through them.”

“Know what you mean,” Crowley mumbled to the papers. “I hate it when I see students not succeeding. Means I’m not doing my job.”

Zira nodded. “Exactly.”

The pair graded in relative silence for a while after that, mostly murmuring to themselves as they made some note or other on an exam, occasionally asking for a second eye as they read over an essay. However, at quarter past six, a timer started going off in the kitchen, and Zira sat up quite straight before setting aside his work and heading into the other room. The clatter of plates and utensils on a table was heard, the sound of Zira humming quietly to himself background noise as he bustled about the kitchen.

He returned a few minutes later carrying plates full of steaming, richly-colored, wonderful-smelling lasagna. “Here you are, dear,” he said, handing a plate to Crowley. “I’ll be right back, let me fetch the wine.”

A break was taken while they ate and drank. “Fantastic as always, angel,” Crowley commented, digging right in. “I didn’t think the squash would work in this but it really, really does.”

Zira took time to savor his own meal, closing his eyes to note how the different textures and flavors worked together. He sipped at his wine delicately before taking another bite, blissful smile on his face, a pleased hum in his throat. “I quite like this recipe,” he declared, looking up to find Crowley staring at him. A confused frown creased his brow. “What?”

Crowley blinked, then shook their head. “Ngk. Uh, nothing. Distracted. Tired. Y’know how it is.” Their cheeks were slightly pink.

Zira raised an eyebrow but said, “Alright, then,” and returned to his meal.

Crowley remained distracted until he had eaten the last bite and put the plate aside, and then they quickly finished their own meal and gulped at their wine before setting their own dish aside and burying their face in exams again. “Really good,” they managed to comment. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Of course,” Zira said quietly, and stood to take the plates to the kitchen.

Hours passed. They returned to grading silently, lost in their own minds and focused entirely on the task at hand. Occasionally, one or the other would pass an exam over and the other would glance over the paragraph in question, then hand it back with a few observations. A thanks would be exchanged, and then they would resume their companionable silence.

More hours passed. The city outside was beginning to settle, the air outside growing chillier as the darkness of an autumn night grew deeper. Inside, though, it was warm, and smelled slightly of lavender and old books and snuffed candles. There was the slight aroma of Earl Grey in the air from the tea Zira had brewed an hour ago. As lights across the city flicked off, the golden glow from the windows of Zira’s flat remained steady.

And then, sometimes past two in the morning, Zira looked over at his friend, ready to make some comment or other, and found Crowley slumped, glasses still on, lips slightly parted, papers scattered before them, fast asleep on his sofa. He smiled gently at his sleeping friend and stood from his armchair to approach them quietly. He removed their glasses first, folding them and setting them gently on the coffee table, then tidied their papers on the table in front of them and draped a blanket over their slouched form. “Sleep well,” he murmured, then flicked off the lamp and retired to his room for bed. The rest of his exams could wait for tomorrow.

* * *

Crowley woke slowly. The first thing they registered, even before opening their eyes, was that wherever they were, it didn’t smell like home. Then they opened their eyes, and they found themself curled on the overstuffed sofa in Zira’s home, and their glasses were on the table in front of them, and they were still in last night’s clothes. They groaned and sat up, rubbing at their eyes, and inhaled deeply as they stretched.

There was a different smell in the air, and in the next moment their brain registered it. “Coffee,” they breathed, and they stood and followed the scent to the kitchen like a cartoon cat smelling fish.

“Good morning,” Zira said chipperly. “I made coffee for you. I hope I brewed it to your liking.”

“‘S coffee. I’ll drink it,” Crowley said. “Got sugar?”

“Right here.” Zira pushed the sugar bowl across the table towards them, and they dropped two cubes in and took a huge gulp without even stirring or waiting for it to cool down.

“Mmm. Good coffee,” Crowley sighed. “Thanks, angel.”

“Erm. Of course.”

It was ten in the morning, but that wasn’t going to stop Zira from fixing them a lovely brunch of french toast and sausages and soft-boiled eggs and raspberries, and Crowley watched Zira eat with their glasses off and their expression painfully fond. Zira didn’t catch Crowley looking at him, or perhaps he didn’t mind, but either way, he didn’t stop Crowley from watching his face as he experienced the food he had cooked.

“So,” Zira said as he stood at the sink and did the washing-up after they had both finished eating, “I suppose you’d like to go home now.”

“I don’t… have to,” Crowley said slowly, trying not to let on just how much they didn’t want to leave Zira’s presence. “I could stay here and we could grade some more, and then I could treat you to lunch as thanks for letting me stay overnight. If you’d like.”

Zira turned to look at them, delight clear on his face. “I would like that very much, Crowley.”

A slow smile spread across Crowley’s face at that. “So would I, angel. So would I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment if u liked this chapter and lmk what characters you want to meet next/see more of! while this fic has been fully outlined it's pretty open for the most part so if u want to meet some other characters just lmk and i'll be sure to give them some screen time!  
highlights from the outline for this chapter:  
-Two Cranky Professors Spend All Night Grading Midterms  
-It is Good and Wholesome and Tender because they are Friends Who Care About Each Other


	10. Schemes, Plots, Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look into The Them's discord server. Imaginations run wild, schemes are schemed, plots are plotted, and mischief is made. Adam is still a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS!!!!! I'M BACK  
this chapter isn't that long unfortunately but i ran into some writer's block over how to handle the half-term holidays. this was what i came up with and i hope you enjoy it even tho it's kinda short! no warnings for this chapter, just some fun times in the chaos server! this chapter was inspired by the Chaos Siblings server my stepbrothers and my sister dragged me into. please click on the links for the full experience :3c

** _server: The Them_ **

* * *

Tuesday, October 29th, 1:27 pm

**sword lesbian:** I hope everyone’s holiday is going well!

**the antichrist™: ** it’s boring. there’s nothing to do

**brain: ** bullshit. theres plenty to do if youre not a coward

**sword lesbian:** We should do something together!

**the antichrist™: ** like what???? its bloody cold out. its going to rain any minute. theres nothing good at the cinema right now. and im NOT doing my classwork

**sandwich bitch: ** actually. there is something we can do.

**sandwich bitch:** im opening the minecraft server AS WE SPEAK

**sandwich bitch:** everyone HOP IN lets build a fucking castle

8:23 pm

**sandwich bitch:** can we p l e a s e talk about the majesty that is dr fell

**brain:** AND dr crowley please do not forget that icon

**sandwich bitch:** how the fuck could i actually forget dr crowley. what an icon

**sword lesbian:** They’re two of the very few openly queer professors on campus like :heart_eyes:

**the antichrist™: ** i would kill for dr fell. no questions asked. i would commit murder for him

**brain: ** i’ve only had dr fell for one month but if anything happened to him i would kill everyone in this uni and then myself

**sword lesbian: ** Big mood

**sandwich bitch:** and actually. i mean. we’ve all seen them together at the cafe multiple times at this point

**brain:** right??? theyve GOT to be dating

**sword lesbian:** No there’s no way they’re dating. There’s been absolutely no change

**sword lesbian: ** They’re just good friends. Ship it all you guys want but there’s definitely no way they’re dating

**the antichrist™: ** but they make such a good couple!!!

**sword lesbian: ** I know they do I KNOW they do but folks please. Do you think after Dr Fell’s tragic breakup that he’d get with Dr Crowley so fast

**brain: ** valid point

**the antichrist™: ** siiiiigh i can dream

**sword lesbian:** They have such good chemistry, honestly. We NEED to get them together

**sword lesbian: ** I mean have you seen them together??? I’ve seen them together and not just at the cafe. There’s no way they’re dating, the body language is all wrong. But they do look really good together

**sandwich bitch:** actually i dont think there’s anything wrong with just them being friends. they dont have to date. it would be  _ nice _ to see an older queer couple on campus but tbh if it doesn’t happen i wont be mad

**the antichrist™:** u know what that is completely fair. ur totally right

**brain: ** we should leave them alone for now.

**sword lesbian:** Fiiiiiiine. Fine. Ok. God. But at the first sign of a crush between either of them I’m jumping the FUCK in and intervening and nobody can stop me

**sandwich bitch:** hell YES

11:16 pm

**sandwich bitch:** guys holy FUCK

**sandwich bitch: ** its almost HALLOWEEN

**sandwich bitch: ** ACTUALLY TWO DAYS

**sword lesbian:** I for one cannot WAIT to dress up as a scary biker lady with a sword and torment Mr Tyler

**the antichrist™: ** im gonna act SUPER dramatic with my big black cloak

**the antichrist™: ** and make mr tylers life a living hell 

**brain:** the best part of halloween is terrorizing the tyler

**sword lesbian:** the only thing that matters

* * *

Wednesday, October 30th, 2019, 11:54 am

**the antichrist™: ** T O M O R R O W

**sword lesbian: ** TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!

**sandwich bitch:** TOMORROWWWWWWWWW

**brain: ** t o m o r r o w :D :D :D :D :D

**brain:** dancing-pumpkin-man.gif

**brain:** spooky-scary.gif

**the antichrist™: ** we need to finish our costumes!!!! and figure out our halloween game plan

**sword lesbian:** Yessssssss come over to yours then?

**the antichrist™: ** yeah come over!!! lets get ready for spooky nite

**brain: ** be there in 20

**sandwich bitch:** actually already on my way lets do this shit

* * *

Thursday, October 31st, 3:06 pm

**the antichrist™: ** ALRIGHT GANG LETS GO LETS DO THIS

**the antichrist™: ** alright heres the plan

**the antichrist™:** @sword lesbian u have the incense right?

**sword lesbian: ** Yes I do!

**the antichrist™:** fantastic. ok and i have the fireworks

**the antichrist™:** ok so the plan is. we’re going to set up these fireworks at opposite sides of the property as we predetermined yesterday

**the antichrist™:** pep youre going to set up and light the incense after the fireworks have been planted

**the antichrist™:** @sandwich bitch ur going to film tylers reaction from the shrubbery

**the antichrist™:** @brain u have 999 ready just in case we set shit on fire

**the antichrist™:** and then we wait for the chaos to start

**the antichrist™:** everyone roger?

**brain: ** roger!

**sandwich bitch:** roger that!

**sword lesbian:** Got it!

**the antichrist™: ** alright everyone bring ur costumes over!!! lets get ready to give an old man a heart attack hehehehe

**brain:** laughing-evil-tom-door.gif

10:49 pm

**the antichrist™: ** H OLY SIHT OHLY SHITT HIOLYS HIT WER E GOI GN TO FOCKIGN JAISLSDKFJ

Friday, November 1st, 2019, 9:56 am

**sword lesbian:** Ok so we’re not pulling anymore pranks with fireworks

**brain: ** but u’ve gotta admit that was REALLY funny

**the antichrist™: ** ur right but also we bARELY ESCAPED WITH OUR LIVES

**the antichrist™: ** worth it tho

**sandwich bitch:** i’m actually so glad we were in costume

**sandwich bitch:** he didn’t know who we were thank GOD

**the antichrist™: ** hhhhhhhh thank SOMEBODY at least

**brain:** all we really did was make a lot of loud noise late at night, we cant get arrested for that

**brain: ** i think

**sword lesbian:** No no we definitely can’t get arrested for that, especially if we didn’t do it

**sword lesbian:** Which we definitely didn’t because nobody saw us

**sandwich bitch:** actually mr tyler saw us but he didnt know who we were so its fine

**the antichrist™: ** and thank FUCK for that

**the antichrist™: ** he could definitely find some way to blame us anyway tho

**the antichrist™: ** remember the egg incident

**brain: ** that didn’t happen

**sword lesbian:** Didn’t happen

**sandwich bitch:** it didnt happen

**the antichrist™: ** thank you

* * *

Saturday, November 2nd, 2019, 8:17 pm

**sandwich bitch:** it really is soul crushing dysphoria hours huh

**sword lesbian:** Oh No

**brain:** rip

**the antichrist™: ** is it meme level, cute animals level, or we all come over and eat ice cream and watch my neighbor totoro level

**sandwich bitch: ** actually ghibli level not going to lie

**the antichrist™: ** ok im on my way

**sword lesbian:** I’ll swing by the shops and get some ice cream

**brain:** omw with blankets

**sandwich bitch:** u guys are actually real heros

**the antichrist™: ** love u wensley

**sandwich bitch:** <3

* * *

Sunday, November 3rd, 2019

**sword lesbian:** Thinking about…… Him

**sword lesbian:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBloyiprdEM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBloyiprdEM)

**the antichrist™: ** HIM

**sandwich bitch:** h i m

**brain: ** its him!!!!!!

**sword lesbian:** Look at him go :’)

**brain:** hes doing so well

**the antichrist™: ** he’s doing amazing

**sandwich bitch:** i love himmmmm

**brain: ** thinkin about h i m  [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rf9PClQKOmg ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rf9PClQKOmg)

**the antichrist™: ** brian why

**sword lesbian:** brian no

**sandwich bitch:** stop this

**sandwich bitch:** its gonna be stuck in my head now :/

**brain:** :3c

**brain:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPDH4lZB6HU](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPDH4lZB6HU)

**sword lesbian:** I will end you

**sandwich bitch:** STOP

**brain:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lPJFpQFYhI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lPJFpQFYhI)

**brain ** has been removed from  **The Them**

**sword lesbian:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5d42w4ZcY4](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5d42w4ZcY4)

**the antichrist™: ** WHEN WILL YOU LEARN

**sandwich bitch:** sjkadfhlkasjd

**sword lesbian:** The Deed Is Done

**sword lesbian:** He’s texting me hold on

**the antichrist™:** :eyes:

**sword lesbian:** He says, and I quote

**sword lesbian:** “WAH WOULD YOU DO THIS TO A-ME????? WALU-WILL-YOU LET ME BACK IN?????????? I DON’T KNOW WAHT I’D DO WITHOUT YOU”

**sandwich bitch:** sounds like a cold and broken waluigi to me

**the antichrist™: ** i’m wheezinf

**the antichrist™: ** let him in. the sheer artistry,,,, the way he never backs down

**brain ** has been added to  **The Them**

**sword lesbian:** I have allowed you back in but you’re on thin fucking ice

**brain: ** thank u pep i will be sure to respect ur authority from now on

**brain:** have u guys seen the final star wars trailer??????

**sword lesbian:** I’m not super interested in SW but Daisy Ridley is pretty hot so :eyes:

**the antichrist™: ** :eyes: :eyes: :eyes:

**sandwich bitch:** LINK PLS

**brain:** [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)

**sword lesbian:** BRIAN I’M GOING TO FUCKING GUT YOU LIKE A FISH

**sword lesbian:** YOU’D BETTER START RUNNING BEFORE I GET TO YOUR HOUSE MOTHER FUCKER

**brain: ** HOKLY SHITF,

11:49 pm

**sword lesbian:** Thinking about…. Girls

**sandwich bitch:** and isnt that just the fucking mood

**brain: ** speak for urselves, i cant stop thinking about jason momoa’s face

**the antichrist™: ** and im thinking about that goth kid in my astronomy class

**the antichrist™: ** i wonder if their holiday’s going well?

**the antichrist™: ** i wonder if they know who i am

**the antichrist™: ** i wonder if they’re into guys

**sandwich bitch:** actually i dont think it matters if theyre into guys when it comes to u adam

**brain:** u dont even have to be attracted to men to be attracted to adam

**sword lesbian:** true facts

**the antichrist™: ** awwwwww guyssssss

**sandwich bitch:** its true tho ur so hot adam

**sandwich bitch:** even objectively speaking

**the antichrist™: ** hhhhhhhhhhhh

**brain:** EVERYONES attracted to u adam

**the antichrist™: ** screaming!!!!!! i would die without you guys

**sword lesbian:** We would die for you!!!

**brain: ** no hesitation

**sandwich bitch:** actually i dont think id die for u

**sandwich bitch:** survival instinct too strong

**the antichrist™: ** that’s valid tbh

**sword lesbian:** Anyway you should def ask goth kid out after break

**the antichrist™: ** noooooooooooooooo

**the antichrist™: ** and face the mortifying ordeal of being known? hell no

**sword lesbian:** Suit yourself, you bisexual disaster

* * *

Monday, November 4th, 2019

**the antichrist™: ** last day of freedom before it’s back to the grind

**sword lesbian:** You mean one more day until we get to see the queer disasters back in action

**the antichrist™: ** well yeah there’s that

**sandwich bitch:** actually thats a good point, i wanted to talk to dr crowley about a trans historians view on trans ppl

**sword lesbian:** Hell YEAH

**the antichrist™: ** and i want to talk to dr fell about this paper bc it’s due friday and i don’t understand shit

**the antichrist™: ** and no offense but i trust dr fell’s answers more than any of yours

**brain:** good luck mate

**brain:** fells office hours are impossible

**brain: ** hes never open when you need him to be and hes always open when its most inconvenient for you

**sword lesbian:** It’s true, his office hours change every single day

**the antichrist™: ** y i k e s

**the antichrist™: ** well i’ll try my best and if i cant reach him then i’ll ask u guys

**brain:** :thumbs_up:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u guys enjoyed this fun little interlude! next chapter there will be More Yearning so get ur asses ready :D :D :D tell me abt something chaotic that's happened in a group chat in the comments, or just let me know if you liked this chapter :3 and remember, if there are any characters you want to see more of just let me know in the comments and i'll be sure to include them!


	11. Seeing and Being Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zira gets a gift. Crowley makes a few unwanted discoveries. An angel yells at God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK OK OK i kNOW this is really soon but i really dont think u guys care. the thing is. i had MASSIVE writer's block coming into this chapter so i thought, i need to make this fic more exciting for myself! and u know what tf i decided to do? that's right folks! i added PAIN. this chapter is the fluff before the storm (for the most part), so buckle up folks, because the rest of part 1 (the next 5 or 6 chapters) is going to rip out ur heart :)
> 
> anyway please please please enjoy this update, i banged it out in like a day and a half and it's got some of my favorite scenes in it so i hope u have as much fun reading this as i did writing it :D :D :D
> 
> no warnings for this one! i'll see u next update >:)

“Well,” Crowley said, sprawling back almost indecently in their chair at the cafe, “back to work again.”

“Indeed,” Zira sighed. They’d both had a lovely holiday filled with wine and each other’s company. One more memorable occasion had included both of them getting righteously sloshed before deciding, drunkenly, to reorganize Zira’s entire collection of books. They’d gotten halfway through the shelves before falling asleep in Zira’s cozy office space, and had nursed twin hangovers (and one nasty migraine on Crowley’s part) the next morning. But despite the migraine and the hangovers and the awfully late night, neither party regretted the occasion.

Now, however, it was back to lectures and student questions and grading assignments.

“I’m quite glad we spent most of the holiday together,” Zira said, sipping his tea. “I would have missed you terribly if we’d spent the whole time apart.”

“I, erm.” Crowley dipped their head awkwardly, and strands of hair fell in front of their face. “Ditto, I suppose.”

Zira smiled. That was as close to affection as Crowley was going to get today, it seemed. “I’m thinking of opening my office hours for fifteen whole minutes today,” he said, “so I should probably get back there.”

“Wow, angel, your students are so lucky to have such a thoughtful professor,” Crowley smirked.

Zira gave them a bastardly smile. “I do try.”

“Let me walk back with you,” Crowley said suddenly, standing as Zira moved for the door. Their face went instantly pink.

“I—yes, of course,” Zira replied, and waited for his friend to join him. “I really am hoping nobody comes to my office. I’m quite enjoying my reread of Jane Eyre.”

“Another sad period romance novel, angel. I’m shocked.” Crowley’s words dripped with sarcasm.

“Jane Eyre is a wonderful story about love,” Zira protested. “Jane falls in love with Rochester on her own terms, not when a man says she must. She leaves him and then returns on her own decisions.”

“But it’s sad,” Crowley repeated.

Zira hesitated. “Yes, it is, rather.” He looked away for a moment.

“The writing’s good, though,” Crowley conceded. “I like the descriptions.”

“Oh, the writing is beautiful,” Zira beamed. “Charlotte Bronte really did quite a wonderful job.”

“That she did, angel,” Crowley said quietly, not-so-subtly watching Zira’s face as he smiled, “that she did.”

* * *

Zira was rather irritated when, two minutes after he opened his office to students, one Adam Young walked in. “Yes?” he said peevishly, peering over his round glasses at the young man.

“Hullo, Dr Fell,” he said, and at least had the decency to look rather sheepish. “I have a few questions about the assignment. I tried over break to figure out what I was supposed to be writing, but I just can’t understand some things. Can you look at my outline for me and help me figure out what I’m doing wrong?”

Zira sighed and tried to seem unhappy with this turn of events, but he couldn’t quite tamp down the little spark of joy at being the figure a student turned to for help. “Of course, dear boy. Let me take a look at what you have… oh dear, it really isn’t much, is it? Come, sit down, let’s look at the assignment again together. Is it something on the handout you didn’t understand or are you having issues organizing your thoughts?”

“A little of both, but I feel like if you explained the assignment again differently I might be able to figure things out.”

“Well then, that’s easy enough to rectify. Now, what I want you to do is explain to me, using as many terms we have discussed and defined in class as you can, the similarities and differences between two of the religions we have covered thus far this semester. Pick whichever two you’d like as long as you can provide at least two similarities and two differences. I would like your paper to be at least three thousand words long, and you must be quite careful with your grammar, I do withhold points for bad grammar. Do you have any questions?”

“I… yeah,” Adam said. “Um, can you look at my outline for me? I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything you’re going to be looking for.”

“Of course, Adam. Here, let me give it a look-over.” Zira peered through his spectacles at the scribbled outline of the paper in front of him. “This looks rather good already, Adam. Only, make sure you keep in mind the differences between hierarchies and pantheons, you seem to have mixed them up in a few places. A lot of things are quite similar, I know, but the nuances are extraordinarily important.”

“Oh, thank you,” Adam said.

“Quite right,” Zira responded with a little smile, pressing the page back into Adam’s hands. “Now, I have a class to teach shortly here, my friend took up more of my time than I had expected during lunch today. Thank you very much for stopping by, Mr Young.”

“Sure thing, Dr Fell.” Adam grinned at him a little. “Oh, Pep told us about you. Hope you’re alright with being the nominated Queer Uncle.”

Zira blinked. “Why… I suppose,” he said, rather flustered. “I’ve never been called such a thing before.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present, eh?” Adam beamed. “I’ll tell the rest of Them.”

“I… alright,” Zira said faintly as Adam disappeared from his office. “Queer Uncle it is, then,” he muttered, and bustled from his office to prepare for his next lecture of the day.

* * *

Crowley and Zira were spending a moment between classes in Zira’s office Wednesday afternoon when Crowley sat forward suddenly, a spark of interest in their eyes. “Would you like to sit for a portrait?”

The question was posed so innocently Zira almost didn’t register it. When he did finally process the words, he froze. “I… I’ve never sat for a portrait before,” he said weakly.

“Then you  _ really _ have to,” Crowley insisted, and reached into their ever-present satchel from where it leaned against Zira’s desk.

“I… I suppose,” Zira said. “It won’t take long? Only, I have a class in an hour.”

“Nah, give me thirty or forty minutes. I’m fast.”

“Alright, then.” Zira sighed and sat back in his chair as Crowley dug out their sketchbook, a stub of a pencil and a lumpy kneaded eraser.

“You can talk while I draw,” Crowley said as they started sketching, bent over their book, “but please try not to move too much.”

The room was quiet but for the scratching of pencil on paper for a few heartbeats. Then, “Do you… often draw portraits of your friends?”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said absently. “Got one of Anathema somewhere. One of my sister, too, I think.”

“You have a sister?’

Crowley shrugged, and the pencil stopped moving for a moment. “Don’t see her much anymore, but yeah.”

And that was that.

Minutes passed, and Zira fidgeted absently with his hands in his lap while Crowley’s pencil scratched away. Every time Crowley looked up at him, he had to look away. He felt exposed under Crowley’s studious gaze, like Crowley could see all of him as they sketched the planes of his face. “I… nobody’s ever wanted to draw me before,” Zira finally said, his voice sounding far-away to his own ears. “Nobody’s ever looked at me and thought I would make nice art.”

“Well, everyone else is an idiot,” Crowley said sharply. “I’ve told you before. You’ve got the face of an angel. Whoever wouldn’t want to draw it is missing out.”

“Oh,” Zira murmured. “Thank you.”

Crowley continued drawing. “Yeah, yeah,” they said. “I’m just stating facts, angel.”

Zira shook his head slightly. “No, I—”

“Oi!” Crowley exclaimed, and glared at Zira. “Please don’t move your head, Zira. I’m almost done.”

Zira pouted slightly before resuming his original neutral expression, and watched Crowley carefully as they drew. “You really do work fast,” he remarked. “How long have you been drawing?”

“Long as I can remember,” Crowley replied. “From the moment I could hold a crayon, really.” They paused, frowned at their drawing, then scrubbed at the paper with their eraser, grumbling to themself. “I swear I’m almost done, no need to fidget like that, angel.”

“Oh, I’m not—” Zira realized he actually  _ was  _ fidgeting, and sheepishly folded his hands tightly in his lap. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

Crowley closed their eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “No, I’m sorry. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to make you… I don’t mind the fidgeting.” They bit their lip and looked up at him, concern barely creasing their brow. “Are you bored? I can be finished.”

“No, no, if you’re almost done, then by all means, finish.” Zira emphasized his point by posing just a bit, and was pleased when Crowley grinned a little.

“Alright, you dramatic bastard. Almost finished.”

They walked Zira verbally through the rest of their process, narrating how they cleaned up extraneous lines and hatched in the darker shadows, how they emphasized outlines in certain places and removed the outline entirely in others. They explained the different methods they used to create light and shadow, and not-so-subtly complimented Zira a few more times.

Finally, however, they added a couple more touch-ups and sat back, finished. “There,” they said, and squinted critically at the drawing. “Not my best,” they said, “but I only had limited time, so—”

“Oh, just let me see it,” Zira demanded, not willing to hear Crowley degrade their own work before he’d even seen it. Crowley handed the book over, and Zira couldn’t help but take in a small gasp. “Oh…”

Crowley had painstakingly detailed every one of Zira’s defining features, including the dimples by his chin and the crow’s feet around his eyes. They’d paid excruciating attention to his eyes, and the wispy lines that made up his hair seemed to be drawn in with care and precision, no matter how lightly they were sketched in. His lips curved up in a small, dainty smile, but the creases under his eyes belied the warmth that lay just beneath the surface. Even his jumper looked soft to the touch.

“Oh, Crowley,” Zira breathed. Nobody had ever led him to even think he was beautiful before, and yet here he was, staring at his own face, and he looked… he looked beautiful.

He looked up at Crowley, his eyes shining, and gave them the biggest smile he could manage without actual tears welling up. “Oh, Crowley, it’s wonderful,” he gushed. “Can I… can I have it? I would like to keep it.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Sure, angel,” they said. “You can just rip it out of the book. I don’t mind.”

Zira carefully tore out the perforated page and set it gently on his desk. “I’m going to frame it, I think,” he said thoughtfully. “I quite like the hatching work along my cheek and nose, by the way. I’ve never seen myself in this sort of light before.” He looked back at Crowley and made eye contact. “Thank you.”

Crowley ducked their head, their hair conveniently shielding their expression. “‘S nothing, angel. Glad you like it.”

Zira made to respond, but the clock caught his eye and he gasped. “Oh! I have to teach Religion Across Cultures in five minutes! Please excuse me, Crowley, it really has been lovely. Call you tonight?”

Crowley trailed Zira to the door. “Sure angel, we can talk tonight. Have fun... teaching, I guess?”

Zira beamed so hard his cheeks hurt. “I will. Oh, I will. Good-bye, Crowley!” He turned and made his way quickly down the hallway towards his classroom, leaving Crowley to stare after him with a dazed smile on their face.

* * *

Crowley strolled towards the Visual and Performing Arts building on Friday feeling happy as a clam. They were well-rested, well-caffeinated, and prepared for their lectures for once in their life. As they walked away from the car park and rounded a corner towards the main entrance of the building, Crowley heard muffled whispering, and the rustling of some shrubbery along the side of the building. Frowning and slightly suspicious, they moved towards the sound, and froze when they saw what was happening.

“Hastur?” they said, staring at the disheveled blond man who stared right back at them from an alcove behind the landscaping. Also staring at them was Dr Ken Ligur, whose back was pressed to the wall of the building, face a little too close to Hastur’s for their position to look anything but compromising. “What’s happening?” they asked, fighting a grin.

“Nothing’s happening, if you know what’s good for you,” Hastur hissed, his hands still splayed against Ligur’s chest.

Ligur grinned, looking a little dazed. “Nobody’s gonna believe you if you tell ‘em, anyway,” he said.

Crowley rolled their eyes. “D’you really have to snog  _ outside,  _ though? Why don’t you find a broom closet or something? It’s bloody cold outside.”

Ligur grinned. “Yeah, Dru, why  _ are _ we snoggin’ outside?”

Hastur grumbled something and reluctantly stepped back a pace. It  _ was  _ cold outside, and all three of them knew it. He still hung onto Ligur’s hand, though, which made his glare towards Crowley seem slightly less menacing. “Don’t go tellin’ anyone,” he warned.

“They wouldn’t believe you anyway,” Ligur reiterated, sounding rather gleeful about it. “So it’s best if you keep your mouth closed.”

“Yeah, you’ve already got a sketchy reputation,” Hastur sneered, brushing past Crowley and pulling Ligur behind him. “Don’t want to add  _ liar _ to the long, long list.”

Then they were gone, and Crowley was left to stare after them and shake their head in utter confusion at whatever the hell had just transpired.

* * *

Saturday, Crowley rolled out of bed, fed Lucifer, and decided they were going to paint. They weren’t sure  _ what _ they were going to paint yet, but the impulse had a strong grasp on them and it wasn’t about to let them go. “Okay,” they said, shrugging on their painting clothes and stepping into the studio, “let’s do it.”

They put the needle on the record and “Bohemian Rhapsody” started playing. It was the only record they had in the studio, and they knew they should bring others in, but they either never quite found the time to do it, or they always forgot. One or the other.

Grabbing their sketchbook, they flipped through old thumbnails they’d sketched out but never actually finished. It was easy enough to pick one, something with an aquatic motif, flowing hair like seaweed, an expression like someone drowning. The sun spilled through the windows, the cold light of winter lighting up the room. Queen blared loud and proud through their studio. Crowley tied back their hair and stretched a canvas, the pounding of the hammer serving much better to wake them up than a cup of coffee today. They hummed rather tunelessly to the music, but since nobody else was there, they felt no need to stay on-key.

It was all going perfectly. It was a great day. They had  _ inspiration. _ They had  _ ideas. _

And then.

And then they put the first smear of phthalo blue onto the canvas, and it looked like the blue of Zira’s eyes, and in that moment, everything changed. Before they knew it they were sketching in the lines of Zira’s face in brown oil paint, and then they were smudging on the gold of Zira’s hair, and suddenly that damned adorable nose was taking shape under their brush, and then those ridiculously plush-looking lips, and then the stupid tartan jumper. After spending far too much time on the rosy redness of his cheeks, they reached the eyes at last.

And they stopped.

They stared at the painting and there was silence for a moment, except for the voice of Freddie Mercury crooning “Somebody to Love.”

“I can’t do it,” they mumbled. “I can’t paint his eyes.” They knew if they did, they would spend hours or maybe days just staring at them. Or maybe they would get the eyes completely wrong. They weren’t sure what, but they knew something bad was going to happen if they painted his eyes.

“Fuck. God fucking  _ damn _ it,” they hissed, and threw down their brush. It clattered on the floor mockingly. Immediately, though, they relented and picked it up, mumbling an apology to it like they hurt its feelings. "I'll just. Try again," they said shakily, and turned away from the unfinished, eyeless portrait of Zira.

They assembled and gessoed another canvas, and tried once more to paint their original idea. It went about as well as the first time, and ended in an even less-finished portrait of Zira, this time beaming like he had outside his office the other day. They couldn’t even finish his smile before they had to toss the whole canvas across the studio. “Shit, shit,  _ shit _ ,” they muttered, gripping their brush tight. “Why can’t I do  _ anything  _ right?”

Another canvas, smaller this time. Another smear of gesso. Another aborted attempt at a painting, a highly idealized image of Zira surrounded by a halo. Get a canvas, try again. Smears of blue and gold, white suits and beaming smiles. Again and again and again, they painted and raged and threw each work away unfinished, imperfect, defeated.

“All I can  _ see _ is  _ him, _ ” Crowley yelled. “Why is this  _ happening? _ ”

They knew why it was happening.

They were in love with Zira.

Of course they were; it was a fact of life at this point. In the span of just a few weeks, an inconvenient crush had spiralled madly into heart-stopping, all-consuming, mind-blowing  _ love. _ And all because of a ridiculous hat, a bowl of soup, and a bright, beaming, overjoyed smile.

In a rush of motion, they sat down heavily on the floor. “I can’t believe this,” they muttered. “I can’t fucking believe this. I am so completely fucked.”

_ I am so completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with Dr A. Zira Fell, _ they didn’t say, but they thought it.

They looked around the room, smudged with blue and gold and littered with unfinished work, a record of a disastrous day, and felt a little wrecked inside. Because of course, while love was wonderful when it was shared, Crowley knew that their love was  _ not _ shared. Their love was a one-way street, a selfish thing, a consuming, gnawing  _ need. _ Their love was clawed and desperate for attention, for requital, and they knew that they would never receive it.

They slumped forward, elbows on knees, head bowed between their arms. “Fuck my life,” they mumbled, tired and a little drained, inspiration ebbing away in the face of their uncomfortable but unavoidable revelation. “Fuck my entire whole life.”

* * *

Saturday evening found Zira sitting alone in his cozy armchair. In his hands was the portrait Crowley had drawn of him. Beside him sat his copy of Jane Eyre.

He stared down at the drawing of his own face and sighed for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. There was just… there was  _ something _ in this drawing, something he could see but not name. Definitely care, because of course Crowley cared. It was in their nature to care, they cared about everything. Everyone. There was time in this drawing; not just the time it took to put it on paper, but also the time they had spent with Zira, getting to know the nuances behind his expressions, getting to understand who Zira was, learning Zira more closely than anyone had ever cared to learn about him before.

Zira stared down at the drawing in his hands, and he sighed once more. His chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped an elastic band around his ribs twice, maybe thrice. His heart beat enough for him to feel it rattling his frame, his breathing was constricted. He felt warm all over. He didn’t think it was a fever, he didn’t feel unwell. Just odd.

Crowley had drawn Zira beautiful, and they hadn’t needed to alter a single feature to do it. He wasn’t quite sure how it was possible to do such a thing. He’d certainly never thought of himself as beautiful before, so what changed? What had Crowley done to present him with an image of his own face that Zira found beautiful?

One more sigh, and Zira put the drawing to the side, resolving to find a frame for it the next day. He got up, poured himself a glass of wine, and returned to his seat to open up Jane Eyre to the last page he’d read. 

> “I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

Zira found himself drawn into Mr Rochester’s eloquent, desperate speech, pleading with Jane to stay with him. It was beautifully romantic, but tragic all the same, for Jane knew now that Mr Rochester was yet married, and she had to refuse herself her love for the sake of propriety.

Zira always found himself tearing up a little bit at this part, and he gulped at his wine in an attempt to ward off the tears.

Jane refused to stay with Mr Rochester when she was distracting him from his lawful marriage, and decided instead to leave the manor, her love, and her wonderful life behind her. Zira sniffled loudly and poured himself another glass.

As Jane wandered the moors and hills, as she passed through towns where no-one would give her shelter, as she fed herself on nothing but other people’s scraps and tried to seek some sort of new life, as she grew ever more distraught at her situation, Zira found his mood sinking lower and lower in empathy. Another glass of wine was emptied and refilled.

Finally, however, she came upon the home of Mr St John and his two sisters, and after some struggle with the servant, she was finally let in. Zira’s mood settled with the alcohol and the solution to Jane’s predicament, and he was soon happily engrossed in Jane’s life with her new friends.

This book hit him a bit too close to home some days, and after the news he’d received a few weeks ago, his emotional state was more brittle than ever. However, reading at home with a good glass of wine, a couple of candles burning, and a home-cooked dinner settling in his stomach, Zira couldn’t help but feel rather content in the state of his life at the moment.

As he came to this realization, he set aside the book, glass of wine still cradled in his fingers, and tipped his head slightly upwards. “Erm, hello,” he said awkwardly. “It’s been a while. I, well, I wanted to… I don’t know. I feel rather silly. But I wanted to thank you. I don’t know if this is your work, any of it, but… these past few months have been so wonderful, mostly, and I thought I should… acknowledge whatever it is you’re doing. I don’t know what you have planned, not really, and I don’t think anybody does. But I’m no longer cross with you, and I think I shall start talking with you again a bit more regularly.

“Erm. Have a good evening, I suppose, if you have evenings up there.”

Satisfied with his message, Zira opened his book and returned to Jane’s world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment if u liked this chapter! what's ur favorite book? do u want to see any of ur favorite characters in the coming chapters? do u have an art blog i should follow?
> 
> thanks to ny on tumblr and the "a bunch of children trying to stop armageddon" discord for listening to me yell :3


	12. Unforgivable Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies see the portrait. More bad news comes for the theology professor. Zira snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO LOVELIES!!!  
soooooooo college is kicking my entire ass (thats what happens when u take 18 credits ig) but i managed to write out this PAINFUL chapter just for you!!!!! i hope u like angst bc the next 5 or 6 chapters are going to be Brimming with it!!!
> 
> content warnings for this chapter: family member in the hospital, implied broken family, some deadnaming, a very bad, one-sided verbal argument, and a bit of dissociation thrown in for good measure.

On Monday, Crowley was unwell, so Zira spent lunchtime with Anathema, Newt, and Madame Tracy. He didn’t mind being the only man there; he found himself more comfortable with women most of the time anyway. Tracy dominated the conversations for the most part, and while Anathema occasionally seemed disinterested or irritated with her chattering, Zira and Newt were happy to sit back and listen to her gossiping.

“...And then _ Alice _ told me, her Diana’s off and eloped with some _ foreigner! _ A German, even! So she’s off to the continent, and Alice doesn’t know what to do, so I tell her, go find her! Don’t let her get away!” Tracy gesticulated wildly. “I mean, what else would a mother do when her child up and walks away without so much as a toodle-oo?”

Zira’s mouth went dry. “Well,” he said very quietly, but Anathema spoke up louder.

“Well, I think she should let her daughter do what she wants. It’s a parent’s job to raise an independent adult, after all. If Diana wants to get married to this German fellow, Alice should let Diana learn for herself whether this decision was a good or a bad one. And perhaps her husband isn’t so terrible, and they’ll come back to Britain every year for Christmas.”

Tracy scowled, clearly unhappy that her scandalous tale did not have the proper effect. “Well,” she said huffily, “the matter still stands. Alice misses her daughter very much, and it’s that German boy’s fault.”

Anathema frowned, and Newt quickly spoke up before the other ladies started fighting. “Did… erm. Zira, how is Crowley?”

Zira’s tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth and he found his voice once more. “They messaged me about half an hour ago. They’re feeling quite miserable today, so I have tasked them with drinking a lot of tea and resting their eyes. I don’t expect to see another message from them until this evening, and if I do, I shall scold them quite thoroughly. It really isn’t good for their migraines to be looking at screens.”

“At least someone’s taking care of them,” Anathema said, shaking her head. “I think you’re the first person I’ve met who can actually _ convince _ AJ to not do something stupid while they have a migraine.”

Newt nodded. “I know, I’ve seen what they get up to even after Ana tells them to go to bed.”

Zira laughed, and it felt real. “Do you know how much wheedling I have to do to convince Crowley to _ eat?” _

“I know,” Tracy said, shaking her head, “they’re a disaster. Once, I walked into their office to find them eating jammy dodgers with hazelnut spread. Now, in what universe would that taste even _ remotely _ good?”

Anathema laughed. “Hey, I’ve eaten weirder food combinations. And AJ really is wonderful.”

Newt wrinkled her nose a bit. “They scare me a bit, though.”

“They can be a bit aggressive,” Tracy conceded, “but you have to remember that they really do care quite a bit about you. About all of us.”

“And we care about them,” Anathema agreed. “Of course we do.”

Zira nodded his own agreement. “They really are quite a lovely person,” he said. “Do you know, they did a portrait of me last week?”

All eyes turned to him. “Really?” Anathema asked. Her gaze on him was intense. “What did they say?”

“Just that they wanted to do my portrait.” Zira hesitated. “I’d never gotten my portrait drawn before. I told them that, and…” Zira’s eyes went a little distant. “They told me I had the face of an angel.”

Every single woman scooted a little closer. “What else did they say?” Tracy asked, eyes wide, smile broad.

Zira shook his head. “Not much, they were focused on drawing. They mentioned they had a sister, I think.”

Tracy and Anathema exchanged a glance. “Zira, you have to understand,” Tracy said, “Anthony never talks about their family. To anyone.”

Zira blinked. “Well then, why on earth would they tell me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!” Anathema said. “I didn’t even know they had a sister until this summer, and I’ve known them for six years!”

Zira’s heart did a funny little thing in his chest. “Ah,” he said, only a little strangled. “Well, would… would you like to, erm, see the drawing? I managed to save a photo of it on my mobile phone.” He fished it out of his pocket and painstakingly made his way to the gallery app where the image resided. When he found it, he let out a soft “aha!” and slid the device across the table so the ladies could see it.

They all crowded around to see it, oohing and ahhing over the drawing. “Oh, Zira, they did a wonderful job,” Anathema said.

“Look at the detail in the eyes,” Tracy sighed.

Newt just looked down at the drawing, then at Zira, then at the drawing, then back at him. She elbowed Tracy, and then Anathema. All three women abruptly pulled back into a sort of huddle, excluding Zira. There was a lot of whispering. Confused, he watched them chatter among themselves, occasionally glancing over at him. There was a fair amount of giggling, and he caught the phrases “can’t just tell him… betray them? ...not our secret to tell… No, I know….”

Then, just as suddenly, all three of them were back to their normal positions. “It’s a very nice drawing,” Tracy said pointedly. “They did a wonderful job capturing your best features.”

“Yes, you can tell they spend a lot of time looking at you,” Anathema agreed.

“They sure did make you look great,” Newt said.

All three ladies stared at Zira. He felt vaguely uncomfortable. “Is… everything alright?” he asked nervously.

The women exchanged glances. “Nothing’s wrong,” Tracy answered him evasively. “We just thought you’d like to know that we can tell that Crowley… thinks very highly of you. We’re glad that they’ve connected with someone so well.”

Zira smiled slightly, his cheeks coloring. “Oh, well, really. I’m sure it’s nothing I’ve done. I’m just pleased that I’ve made so many nice friends since coming here. I was quite worried that I wouldn’t be able to make friends at all this year, being so new.”

“Nonsense,” Anathema declared, “most of the people here are great.”

“Except that Gabriel,” Tracy added heatedly. “He can go… drown in the Thames, for all I care.”

“Tracy!” Zira exclaimed. “Now, really. Gabriel may be an unpleasant person, but nobody deserves death, especially by drowning. Do you know, it’s said that drowning is probably one of the worst deaths? I do feel quite terribly for poor Ophelia.”

With that, the conversation shifted abruptly to the gruesome deaths of fictional characters, and all discomfort was easily evaded by one confused Zira.

* * *

Thursday night, Zira’s phone rang. He thought nothing of it, answering with his typical breezy “Hello?”

“Andrew.”

Zira’s heart stopped. “I… Constance,” he said. “Calling again so soon?”

“Yes, Andrew,” Constance said tiredly. She had always sounded tired. A pang of strange nostalgia shot its way through Zira’s heart. “I’m calling about your father again.”

Zira’s hands began to tremble. His heart rate sped up. Despite everything, he was afraid. “What happened?”

“He’s back in hospital again,” she explained. “Some complication or other. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll make it this time.”

“Oh,” Zira said very, very faintly. “Oh, I see.”

“Your mother still refused to tell you. I thought you at least had a right to know.” A pause. “This could be your last chance to repent and come back while he’s still here, Andrew. You know if you renounce your sin you could come home. We’d welcome you, too.”

Zira thought he was going to be sick. “No,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t.”

There was a sigh from the other end. “I’m disappointed, Andrew. Some of us miss you, you know.”

This time, his stomach actually did lurch, and it took everything in him to calm his frantic body. “You know where I stand,” he said, as firmly as he could manage. “I’m not going to change. And _ don’t _ call me Andrew,” he added coldly. “Everyone calls me Zira now. Please try to do the same.”

There was a very long, heavy silence. Then the receiver clicked on the other end and the dial tone found its shrill way into Zira’s ear. With shaking, clammy hands, he set the phone down, and then he collapsed into his armchair before he could actually faint. Things would have been so much easier if he’d never had to hear from them again, but no matter how many times he walked away, they always caught him and made him listen. He wasn’t sure if he could do it again.

The problem was, even among the fear and the pain, he _ missed _ them. It had been so, so long since he had seen Constance’s face. He wondered, in some desperate corner of his mind, how grey her hair was now.

It didn’t matter. It _ shouldn’t _have mattered. He hadn’t seen them in almost two decades, and he wanted it to stay that way. So did they, evidently. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake that desperate, empty yearning feeling.

He wished his mother were there with him. She may have been rather strict, but she still gave him the warmest, most comforting hugs when he was sad. He missed her arms around him.

The first sob came upon him so abruptly that when it ripped through his chest it startled him. The second one followed soon after, and then he was weeping, hugging his arms around himself and feeling lost and alone. Big, ugly sobs wracked his body and he curled in on himself even more. He wished there was someone who he could talk to about this. He wished there was someone who would understand.

He wanted to talk to Crowley. Crowley would comfort him. Crowley would hold him while he cried and would take his mind off every awful thing that was happening and—

Oh, who was he kidding? Crowley wouldn’t understand. Crowley had family. Crowley had a sister and probably parents who loved them and they had lots of friends. They wouldn’t know how to comfort Zira. They wouldn’t even know where to begin. They’d probably laugh awkwardly and then try to make jokes. They’d try to drag Zira out to do something he didn’t want to do, make him explore new things, meet new people, which was exactly what got him here in the first place!

Oh, of course. He was being punished by someone Up There for being around Crowley so much and doing things he shouldn’t be doing. This was some divine joke, probably, and the punchline was how far he had fallen. Maybe he’d still be loved if he hadn’t gone and deviated from the straight and narrow. Maybe he’d have friends who actually liked him instead of pretending out of pity. Maybe his family would still want to be around him.

This was all Crowley’s fault. It had to be. Things hadn’t started to go wrong until he’d started to talk to Crowley. Maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe it was bad to be around Crowley. After all, since meeting Crowley, he’d been happy, sure, but wasn’t that the devil’s way of getting to you? Tempting you into happiness as everything good crumbled around you?

He had to get Crowley out of his life. That was the only way to keep his family alive and himself safe.

And it hurt to think about. It made him sick. He didn’t _ want _ to hurt Crowley. But Crowley was hurting him, so it had to be done.

After coming to this conclusion, Zira went to bed, thrumming with fear and dread and an awful sort of hope.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Crowley could tell immediately that something was wrong. They barely even had to look at Zira to know that something was bothering him. His face was doing this funny thing where, every time he smiled, it crumpled a little at the edges. He wrung his hands together constantly, and obsessively cleaned his glasses. He would make little gulping noises, or rock back on his heels, and he was not even close to as energetic as Crowley was used to him being.

Crowley thought of themself as a good friend. Crowley cared for Zira.

Maybe _ cared _ wasn’t the right word.

Crowley loved Zira. Crowley loved Zira desperately. Crowley loved Zira with all of their heart. Crowley would do _ anything _ to see Zira happy. And right now, Zira was definitely _ not happy. _

So, Crowley did what any good friend would do.

They asked him about it.

“Zira,” they said conversationally, leaning against his desk. Their glasses were pushed up on their forehead, and they stared at him with uncovered eyes. To establish trust, or something like that. “Something’s bothering you.”

Zira tensed. “I—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley said, “I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re not happy. And you’re not even close! Come on, I know something’s wrong. You can tell me these things.”

“Well… I…” Zira clamped his mouth shut.

“Come on,” Crowley wheedled again. “We’re best friends, right? You can tell me anything. That’s what friends—”

“Friends?” Zira exclaimed suddenly. “Friends? We’re not _ friends! _ We _ can’t _ be friends. We—” Zira took a shuddering breath, and his eyes brightened with something like anger. “You—you’re always doing this! You are! Forcing me to do things I don’t want to do, things I can’t do, things I would never do! You have an awful reputation here, Crowley, I can’t… I can’t be seen around you!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Crowley. “Do you know how many people _ avoid me _ because I’m around you all the time?”

Crowley stepped back sharply when Zira pointed a finger directly at their chest. “Woah, woah,” they said, raising their hands placatingly, “hang on, Zira—”

“You’ve been… you’ve been _ ruining my life _ since the day we met!” Zira shouted, jabbing his finger at Crowley, who flinched back again. “I’m upset because of _ you! _ It’s _ your fault _ that these terrible things are happening to me!”

A horrible, awful silence. Crowley swallowed thickly, staring wide-eyed at Zira, begging him silently to take back what he just said.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Zira finished softly, sounding both angry and near tears.

Crowley stared at Zira with a look of such deep hurt that Zira almost took it back immediately. But then Crowley shook their head slowly, biting their lip, then sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. They would do anything Zira asked. Of course they would. “Alright, angel,” they said, “I’ll leave you alone. All you had to do was ask.” They turned to leave, but looked back one more time. “Good-bye, Zira.”

* * *

As soon as Crowley left, Zira sunk into his chair and stared at his hands, tears still running down his chin and staining his jumper. His hands shook slightly, but he felt rather detached from them. Were they his hands? Were those his tears? Was this his body? He felt as though he was floating up and away from his form, staring at himself from outside of his body. He observed, emotionless, his slumped shoulders, his trembling frame, his lost expression.

What was he going to do without Crowley?

He knew he had hurt Crowley. He had hurt Crowley awfully. They were never going to speak to him again. They were going to forget he ever existed.

That was supposed to be a good thing.

Why wasn’t it a good thing?

Zira felt like he was about to be sick. He had just done something awful, probably something unforgivable. He knew in the moment right after he’d said it that what he’d done was terrible. But it was what had to be done. It wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t even good, but it had to be done anyway.

Zira’s hands shook harder. The tears flowed thicker. He finally started to make some sort of noise, a sort of soft choking sound. He couldn’t sob, not quite, but as his breath hitched in his chest he made pathetic sort of squeaking noises. He felt so dreadfully empty inside, as everything important to him had just been taken away.

(And wasn’t that what had happened?)

No, no, of course it wasn’t. He had more in his life than just Crowley. He wasn’t that sad. He wasn’t that pathetic. He had Anathema, and Newt, and Tracy (even though after what he’d just done he wouldn’t be surprised if they sided with Crowley and left him behind), and he had his family, sort of, if he really truly needed them (he hoped, although he’d told himself over and over again that he’s never going to need them again), and he had Gabriel (the twat, his superiority only by technicality and who Zira never wanted to speak to if he didn’t absolutely have to), and he had his books.

His precious, beloved books, which had served to fill the void in his chest for twenty or so years now.

The books would have to be enough. It was for his own good.

(The books would never be enough. Not after Crowley.)

Zira slowly reattached himself to his body. He tilted his spinning head towards the ceiling and let the tears roll back into his hairline.

“Erm,” he said, his voice catching, “hello again. I really very much hope that this is what you wanted me to do. If this wasn’t part of your plan for me then I hope that you know that this will eat me alive for the rest of my days. I’m already feeling guilty about it, even though I know that if it was the right thing, then I shouldn’t. Oh, I really hope this was the right thing to do.” He let out a half-strangled sob, then. “I’ll never forgive myself if I drove off the one good thing you gave me,” he said, a self-deprecating laugh welling in his throat. “If I did the wrong thing, if I destroyed everything good in my life, then at least do something good for them? I do feel dreadful for hurting them so.” 

The tears welled up thick and salty in his eyes and rolled stickily down his cheeks. “And if I did the wrong thing, then the only fitting punishment is that they hate me forever. And that’s alright. I’ll take that punishment. I hurt them.” Another sob. “Nobody deserves to be talked to the way I talked to them,” he said miserably. “Especially not Crowley.”

He was not so much praying as just venting to the heavens at this point. God would surely understand, though, if they were listening.

He hoped miserably that they were listening.

“Please tell me I did the right thing,” he whispered wretchedly at the ceiling. “Please.”

* * *

Crowley swiped angrily at their face, smearing traitorous tears across their chin, as they made a beeline for the car park. Yanking their car door open, they slid in and peeled out onto the road, barely caring as someone blared their horn at them. They rolled the windows down, letting the frigid air blow their tears dry, and turned up the radio as loud as it would go, disregarding any migraine risk for the sake of pounding the emotions out of themself. The music and cold air did nothing to banish their emotions, but they at least provided a distraction. Crowley yelled along to the music, eyes still streaming, and drove much, much too fast down the highway.

Eventually, however, their vision got much too blurry to see, and they pulled over to the shoulder, turned off the music, rolled up the windows, and pressed their forehead to the steering wheel. “Fuck.” The word was a broken whisper, an echo of their heartbreak. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The last time, they smacked the heel of their hand on the wheel. But their rage dissipated as soon as it appeared, and their shoulders slumped as they cried, alone, in their car on the side of the highway, feeling suddenly terribly worthless and alone and heartbroken.

“He didn’t mean it,” they said, doing a very poor job of trying to comfort themself. “He couldn’t have meant it. He’s always been happy being with me. He would have told me earlier if this stuff was true.”

They knew Zira better than that, of course. He never talked about what was bothering him. He bottled that shit up better than a professional winery. He very well could have meant what he said to Crowley.

Hell, he probably did. How many lives had Crowley ruined in the last thirty or so years? How many lives had Crowley ruined since they had been born forty-three years ago? How many people had left them _ because _ of them? Too many to count, that’s how many.

Crowley’s face crumpled as they realized what had happened. Before they knew it, Anathema and Newt and Tracy were going to walk away too, probably to join Zira in the “Crowley Ruined My Life Club”. They didn’t know what they’d done to deserve that, but they’d probably done something. Maybe they’d existed too hard. Maybe they’d said one too many sentences. Maybe their jokes were no longer funny.

Friendless, lifeless, loveless Crowley. Stuck with a bad reputation and worse luck. Cursed to walk the Earth only to make everyone else miserable and uncomfortable. Of course it was only a matter of time before Zira realized who they were and dropped them like a bad habit.

Crowley wallowed in self-pity for twenty or so more minutes before pulling themself together. Their mouth tightened into a bitter line and they wiped the tears from their face and chin. “Right,” they said flatly. “That’s enough of that.” Then, their expression carefully set like stone, they gunned it down the highway towards home and tried very, very hard to not think about the way Zira had smiled when he’d seen the portrait of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to parallel the bandstand scene somehow ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** pls dont hate me or zira ok? remember kids, trauma and grief are not always pretty and can make people act in a lot of ways they wouldn't normally. i promise everything will be alright in the end, but there is a lot of recovery and mending broken bridges that will have to happen between now and part 2. emotions are messy and mental health is very very complicated. take care of yourselves and remember that life is not black and white, it's just a smudgy grey area where people can fuck up and then fix their fuck-ups.
> 
> let me know if u liked/hated this chapter (or me) in the comments! kisses, love u!


	13. Broken In Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wallows. Zira wanders. Anathema is the token mom friend. Tracy is ready to throw down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS ITS BEEN A HOT MINUTE AGAIN!!!!! college is really kicking my whole entire gay ADHD ass PLUS i've had MAJOR writing block so here's whatever the fuck this is. some timeline updates: midterm is in like 2 weeks so i will not have a lot of time to write until spring break, which starts march 6, so expect the next chapter around then. full disclosure, this chapter and the next are mostly just depressing angst of varying degrees, so there's that warning on that.
> 
> official chapter warnings: quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol/alcohol as a coping mechanism, crowley-typical self-hatred

Crowley spent most of Saturday curled in bed, alternating between feeling sorry for themself and hating themself. They didn’t leave their bed except to locate a bottle of whiskey in their cabinet. They ignored their medications in favor of drinking the whole bottle throughout the day, drowning their sorrows and self-loathing in the burn of alcohol. It  _ hurt, _ their heartbreak, their ribs constricting painfully around their lungs and heart. But it was a pain they supposed they deserved, to some degree. They must have been an awful person, they must have done something perfectly dreadful, to make gentle, kind Zira raise his voice at them. Whatever they’d done, they must have deserved Zira’s rage, because he  _ never _ got angry.

_ “Friends? We’re not friends!” _

Crowley choked on a sob, hiccuped, and was nearly sick. They’d never seen Zira so terribly angry before. It conjured up memories they desperately wished to forget, and so they swigged out of the bottle once more to try to mute the screaming voices in the back of their mind. Eventually, when the bottle was empty and their tears had run dry, they fell asleep curled around a pillow, still hearing the barbed words of someone who was once their best friend.

Sunday they woke up dreadfully hungover, but they dragged themself out of the house for therapy anyway. They didn’t want to disappoint their therapist, too, on top of everyone else they’d fucked over.

“Good morning, Crowley,” she said, smiling at them as they dropped heavily into the comfortable chair in her office. “How was your week?”

Crowley didn’t answer, instead staring off somewhere into the middle distance. Their face was pale and drawn.

“Okay,” she said graciously, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Several minutes ended up passing before Crowley yanked off their sunglasses and immediately dropped their face into their hands, stifling a small, sad sound. “I lost my best friend,” they said finally.

She watched them for a moment. “Zira?” she asked gently.

Crowley just nodded miserably.

“What do you mean by ‘lost’?”

Crowley made another choked, broken noise. “I don’t know what I did,” they said instead of answering. “I don’t know what I did.”

She waited.

Crowley’s hands slid from their face to their lap. “He… oh, God. He was  _ angry. _ He never gets angry. He told me I was, ngh. I was ruining his life. Screamed it at me, even. Told me nobody wanted to be around me because of my reputation.” Their hands clenched painfully in their lap. "He… he said we couldn’t be friends.” Their voice broke, then, and they couldn’t continue, pressing their hands over their mouth as their shoulders shook.

She watched them for a moment, expression unreadable, then got up. She passed them a box of tissues as she made her way to the electric kettle. “Tea?” she asked.

Crowley sniffled and finally looked up at her. “Huh?”

“Do you want a cup of tea? I find it helps when mourning lost friendships.” She was already pouring herself a mug.

Crowley gaped at her, shut their mouth, and just nodded. She smiled. “Good. Sugar?”

Crowley nodded again, brows furrowed in confusion.

She brought back a cup for them and they both sat there, nursing their hot drinks for a moment. Crowley had to admit, the heat from the mug and the sweetness of the tea really did wonders to soothe their bruised and battered soul.

“What do you think you did?” she asked eventually.

Crowley shook their head. “I don’t know. Things were going perfectly well until Friday. Then he just… he changed. Was weird all day, n’ then he just… popped off on me. No warning, nothing.”

“If you can’t think of a single thing you’ve done wrong, then you did nothing wrong,” she told them, and wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that a whole revelation? Crowley did nothing wrong.

They laughed, false and self-deprecating. “That’ll be the day. I’m always fucking something up for someone. Even if I don’t know I’m doing it.” A tear slid down their cheek. “Just because I don’t know I did it doesn’t mean I didn’t do it.”

She nodded. “A totally rational train of thought. Crowley, tell me, do you have a history of dissociative episodes?”

Crowley shook their head.

“Amnesia? Head injury? Sleepwalking?”

Crowley shook their head.

“So you can recall the things you have done in the past, and have no instances of losing large gaps of time,” she said. “Tell me, Crowley, can you think of anything you’ve done in your time of knowing Zira which has made him even the least bit upset, even for a moment? Anything at all?”

Crowley bit their lip. “No,” they said softly. “I’ve done… so much for him.”

“And he seemed to like what you did for him?”

“At the moment at least, yeah. The way he’d smile at me….” Another tear snaked its way down their face. “I loved him, y’know. I really loved him.”

“Do you not love him now?” she asked, tilting her head. Her gaze was scrutinizing, but not unkind.

“Y… no…. I don’t know,” Crowley snarled, and their face sank back into their hands.

“Alright,” she said simply. “That’s alright, Crowley. You don’t have to know. These kinds of things are  _ very  _ complicated. He broke your heart. That’s a messy thing.”

Crowley nodded into their palms. “I’m gonna need to think about it.”

“Think about it all you need,” she said gently. “I’m here to help you untangle your mental knots, so let me know if you’d like me to help you.”

Crowley nodded again. “I just…” they whispered, muffled and barely audible. “I should have known it was going to happen. I let my guard down.” 

“You did, and I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“You are?” The words came out small, like a child desperate for approval.

In many ways, they really were.

“I am,” she repeated. “I am so, so proud of you for initiating a conversation, putting yourself out there, and enjoying your time with Zira. You have grown so much since you met him.”

“I… I have?”

“You really have. You take the initiative. You eat  _ regularly _ and  _ healthily _ so much more often than you did before. You smile more often. You recognize your impulses and are in better control of them. I’m here to notice these things, Crowley, and I’ve noticed how well you’ve been doing.”

Crowley sniffled, dragged the heel of their hand across their eyes, and said, “Thanks. Can I go home now?”

She smiled a little. “Yes, Crowley. I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded, stood, and left.

* * *

As soon as they arrived home, they called Anathema. “Hi, AJ,” she said breezily.

“Ana,” they said, their voice the absolute picture of misery.

“AJ? What happened?” she asked, concern immediately taking over.

“Zira told me to fuck off,” Crowley mumbled into their mobile, slouching dejectedly on their sofa. “Not… not in so many words, but.” They sighed, heavily. “Talked to my therapist today but… I need a friend.”

“You just hold on right there,” Anathema said, “I’m coming over.”

Half an hour later found Anathema inside Crowley’s house, making herself entirely at home in their kitchen. She put on the kettle to boil, cracked some eggs into a frying pan, set up some bread to toast, and sat her miserable friend down at the granite kitchen island and forced them to hydrate while she cooked. “I don’t  _ care _ what happened, or how sad you are,” she lied, “you  _ need _ to take care of yourself, AJ. Have you eaten anything that isn’t junk in the past three days?”

“Mmmnno,” Crowley mumbled, sounding like a child who had just been found with their hand in the biscuit tin.

Anathema sighed. “It really is terrible, what happened,” she conceded. “I get it. I know how you must be feeling right now. But that is no excuse to completely give up on yourself. In fact,” she continued, poking at the eggs as they sizzled, “if anything, you should be treating yourself right now, not wallowing.”

Crowley pursed their lips. “Felt bad,” they said after a moment. “I thought… he told me it was my fault. So I thought I had to…”

“Punish yourself?” Anathema shook her head. “Come on, AJ. You know you don’t deserve what he did. You’ve got to know that by now.”

“Still hard to accept sometimes,” Crowley muttered, and took another sip of water. “‘M trying, though. My therapist talked me through some stuff today. I’m gonna think about some things this week and get back to her next session.”

Anathema nodded sagely. “Good idea, AJ.” She pulled the pan off the heat, grabbed two plates out of a cabinet, and served herself and Crowley a comforting lunch of toast, fried eggs, and tangerines.

“Thanks, Ana,” Crowley mumbled as they dug in, suddenly aware of how hungry they were. “‘S good.” A rush of heat prickled behind their eyes as they remembered Zira cooking for them, and a tear slipped unbidden down their cheek. “Wish Zira was here. He cooked for me a lot.”

“Oh, AJ,” Anathema sighed, and leaned over to hug her friend. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley sniffled into her shoulder for a few minutes before sitting up and finishing their now-room-temperature eggs. “Nnnh. This is shit,” they grumbled. “Not the eggs,” they added quickly, “just the whole… Zira thing. I… Ana, I’d  _ just _ realized how fucking hard I’d fallen in love with him, and…” They stopped, not trusting themself to continue without falling apart.

Anathema made a sympathetic noise. “Poor thing. I’m sorry this happened, I really am. You two were so close, I really thought…” She trailed off and shook her head. “But it’s over now, I suppose.”

“I…” Crowley bit their lip and stared at the floor. “I’m not… despite it all, I’m not angry at him.” They laughed mirthlessly. “How stupid is that? Zira could literally stab me and I would still think he was the sweetest, kindest human being on the face of the planet. I’m… I think I’m still completely besotted, Ana, and if he came to my door and told me he never meant any of it I would take him back in a heartbeat. I miss him so, so much, I can’t—” They choked, swallowed, breathed in sharply. “I can’t live without him. It’s so pathetic.” They shook their head self-deprecatingly, and Anathema sighed and wrapped an arm around them again.

“This is normal, AJ. It’s just like a bad breakup. You’re allowed to miss him. You’re allowed to grieve. C’mon, let’s put in a movie. You’ve gotta get Zira off the mind for a bit.”

Crowley nodded. “Can we watch James Bond?” they asked quietly.

Anathema sighed. “Alright. Fine. We can watch James Bond.”

* * *

Zira was, in short, not doing well.

As soon as classes had finished Friday, he had packed up and headed home. His mind was shockingly empty. Every time he thought of Crowley he shut it down, boxed it up, and put it away, compartmentalizing all his complicated emotions over whatever had just happened. (This was not at all healthy, but it was a practice he’d perfected over the years.)

All evening Friday, he meandered through his flat, picking up a book and then setting it down elsewhere mindlessly over and over, not really paying attention to anything. Everything was quiet, inside and out.

His hands trembled. He didn’t notice.

His sleep was troubled and restless, and he woke up numerous times, sweating and plagued by strange and awful dreams.

Saturday was much the same. He puttered about his flat, checking his mobile before remembering he wouldn’t have any texts, which would then prompt him to think about what had happened Friday, which would then prompt him to completely shut down his entire thought process which found him sitting in his armchair and staring at nothing for minutes at a time several times that day. He would try to read a book, but end up reading the same line over and over without absorbing it, so he would set down the book and try a different one. Rinse and repeat.

This self-imposed solitary confinement was nothing new to Zira. He had been doing it on and off for the past two or so decades, perhaps longer; he was, after all, a rather quiet and solitary child. However, something about it felt different this time. Sadder, perhaps. Less comforting.

Instead of feeling secure in his isolation, Zira found himself being crushed on all sides by a dreadful loneliness. It was a claustrophobic feeling, made all the more strange and disorienting by the fact that he was entirely alone in his home. He found himself longing for contact with another person, not even face-to-face. A telephone call would suffice, or a text message, or even an impersonal email from a coworker. But none came.

By Saturday evening, Zira was in a good enough state of mind to turn on some music and make himself something to eat. (Had he really not eaten all day?) The music added something less suffocating to the atmosphere, and the feeling of cooking was relaxing, until he remembered how Crowley used to praise his cooking, and then he nearly burned the pork. Dinner was a quieter affair than he remembered it being. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t being barraged with texts from an overly-eager art history professor while he attempted to eat.

“Oh, bother,” Zira mumbled into his half-eaten plate.

He didn’t  _ mean _ to miss them, was the thing. In fact, he would have much rather preferred it if he didn’t miss them at all. He wished he could just feel satisfied with the decision he’d made without it seeming like the end of the world.

The feeling would go away, though. He was sure of it.

* * *

Tracy called him Sunday. He could tell as soon as he answered that she was quite put out with him. “What did you say to Anthony?” she asked, her voice surprisingly firm for a woman who looked and acted as though she were made out of crinoline, satin, and cigarette smoke.

“What?” he said intelligently.

“What have you done to Anthony?” Her tone was frostier than the November weather outside his windows. “Anathema hasn’t told me anything, and I must know for myself what happened.”

“I… I really don’t want to talk about it,” Zira said hastily, and nearly hung up.

“There is no  _ want _ when the emotional wellbeing of our friend is involved,” Tracy said, “if you two are still even friends after what you’ve done.”

“I… my dear woman,” Zira tried, “it really is quite—”

“You know what? We should have this talk face to face,” Tracy decided. “Meet me at the cafe in two hours. Be there or I will hunt you down.” She hung up.

Zira stared at his mobile. “I suppose I must,” he sighed, fear hammering away in his heart.

_ It would always come to this, _ something wicked whispered in the back of his mind.  _ You knew it couldn’t last. You knew they were all going to leave you eventually. _

Zira knew it. He dreaded it. He welcomed it.

He met Tracy at the cafe. She glanced at him when he walked in, then fixed him with an icy glare. “Sit,” she said.

Zira sat.

“Tell me,” she said, “what you said to Anthony.”

Zira told her. Not in so many words, but he told her. What else could he tell her but the truth?

She looked at him, hard, for a good few moments. Then, “Why did you say those things?”

_ Because they were true, _ Zira’s lying mouth wanted to say.  _ Because I really felt that way. Because I needed them out of my life. _

“I was afraid,” he said eventually. “I…  _ am _ afraid.”

Her expression changed, slightly. Still angry, but now there was an undercurrent of confusion. “Afraid?” she asked.

Zira nodded. “I… I can’t really explain it further. I don’t quite know the extent of it, of my own feelings. But I… I know I’m terrified. I’m scared of something. I think I’m scared of Crowley.”

Tracy frowned. “You’ve known them for how long, and you’re  _ afraid _ of them?”

Zira shrugged. “It’s… it’s very complicated, Tracy. Again, I’m not at all certain I could express what it is I am feeling.” He sighed. “I… I do wish I could have gone about it better. Not shouting, for one thing.”

“You yelled at Anthony?” Tracy said sharply, her eyes glinting.

“I… I suppose I did,” Zira mumbled. “I do regret that now. I wish I hadn’t shouted so.”

Tracy processed these things for a long few moments.

“And this is how you really feel about them?” she asked eventually.

Zira nodded. “It… it needed to be done,” he said. “Perhaps… not in such a way, but… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go on like that anymore. Not with them. Not like that.”

Tracy pursed her lips and dipped her chin a bit. “Right,” she said. “I suppose I can’t stop you from feeling the way you feel. I just wish you hadn’t hurt Anthony so.”

“And I so desperately wish the same,” Zira agreed fervently. “The way I said things was quite out of line and I do feel quite ashamed about it.”

Tracy nodded again, sharply, something like pity playing around her features. “I like you, Dr Fell,” she said. “Not right now, I don’t. But usually I do. I think I’ll keep in touch with you.”

Zira, not sure if he was supposed to feel flattered or chastened, merely smiled tight-lipped and said, “Well, if that was all you needed, I did have something I had to get done today.” (A lie.)

“Go on,” Tracy said, waving a hand at him. “I’ll be staying here a while longer. Go do whatever it is you do.”

Zira left. He got the tube back to Soho and spent the rest of the day holed up in his flat, trying and failing to read, and fighting off the lingering thoughts about Crowley which came unbidden to mind at the most inconvenient of moments.

His heart hurt, but the feeling would go away eventually. He was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ zira PLEASE just go to therapy im BEGGING u we canNOT keep doing this
> 
> yeehaw another chapter finished! drop a kudos and a comment if u liked this one! also lmk in the comments if there are any characters you want me to bring in more often! i'm always willing to drop in some favorite side characters :) ALSO also drop some songs in the comments that u think crowley would listen to while wallowing in this friendship breakup scenario :D :D :D


	14. Clobber Verses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back in the timeline of one A. Zira Fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOOK AT ME GO it's only been like! a week! and im publishing another chapter! i honestly didn't think i would publish anything til next week but i just churned this out in a fevered haze. this took me 4 hours. it is now 2 in the morning. please help me.
> 
> this chapter is! incredibly heavy! i've put our poor angel through a lot in this one. so consider yourselves warned. this will be, however, the second to last Heavy Chapter in this fic, and the next one on this chapter's level won't be until chapter 23-ish so you'll have a break.
> 
> official chapter warnings: heavy religious themes, heavy homophobia, homophobic slurs, some descriptions of violence. don't use slurs kids! take care of yourselves!

“...for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. Amen.”

Andrew wiggled in his seat on the church pew. It was wooden and slick with polish, and it was so much fun to slide back and forth on.

“Andrew,” his mother chided in a hushed tone, and smacked him on the arm.

“Sorry,” he whispered back, and stopped moving. Beside him, his older brother snickered. Steven did that a lot, whenever Andrew got reprimanded. He’d eventually learned to tune it out.

Church was boring, Andrew had decided. He liked all the singing, and the big fancy organ, and the big fancy glass windows, and the fancy clothes the priest wore. But all the times when they talked and prayed and droned on and on and on were almost sleep-inducing for an eight-year-old boy who just wanted to get up and move, or maybe hear some more stories about Bible heroes, not what God would do to you if you were bad.

Andrew didn’t like God that much, either. He was scared of God, way more than he was scared of his dad. And he was pretty scared of his dad.

Well. He wasn’t scared of the Bible God so much. The Bible God was actually pretty cool, and He only smote the Really Bad Guys. But Bible God really loved the good guys, and gave them lots and lots of chances. He took good care of them even when they were bad, and welcomed them back over and over again whenever they realized they’d done something bad. The Bible God was pretty cool. ( [ Especially when he killed that one king by making him get eaten by worms. ](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+12%3A20-23&version=NIV) )

The God they talked about in church was different. The God he learned about in church was angry all the time, and would punish you if you did something bad by sending you to Hell, which was full of fire and devils and stuff. And maybe He’d even punish you while you were still alive by making you sick or taking your friends or your house away.

There was a list of ten things Bible God didn’t like, and a list of a whole lot of things that church God didn’t like. Andrew wasn’t sure which list he should trust, because the Bible was the word of God, but the priest seemed to know a lot more about this stuff than Andrew did so maybe the list got updated in the Bible and Andrew just hadn’t seen it.

Andrew’s parents were on the Church Board, which meant that sometimes they’d have to stay after the service for Meetings which Andrew wasn’t allowed into because they were for Adults. That was fine by him. He was content to just read his books and imagine that the characters were his friends. Currently, he was immersed in  _ Treasure Island _ , and he was fleeing Long John Silver alongside Jim Hawkins. It was a very exciting book.

Eventually, the board meeting finished, and Andrew’s parents emerged. “Come on, boys, let’s get home,” Andrew’s father called, and Steven and Andrew clamored to be the first one out the door, eager to leave the church and have a late lunch. The four of them chatted in the car all the way home, and their mother fixed them peanut butter sandwiches with chocolate milk. Later Steven showed Andrew how to make a cat’s cradle with a rubber band, and then they played with their toy soldiers for a while until Steven claimed that his toy soldier had killed Andrew’s, at which point Andrew had started crying, until his father put down the newspaper and stood him up and told him to “toughen up” and “be a man.”

“Men don’t cry,” Andrew’s father said sternly, and put a finger under Andrew’s chin to tilt his head back. “Look at me,” he said. “Men don’t cry. Right? You’ve gotta be strong.”

Andrew nodded tearfully, and swiped at his weak, traitorous eyes until they stopped leaking.

“Good lad,” his father said. “Can’t have my sons growing up soft. Now go back to your game, boys. I’ve got to ask your mother what’s for dinner.” And his father clapped Andrew on the shoulder and strode past him into the kitchen to speak with their mother.

Steven’s soldier killed Andrew’s soldier. This time, Andrew didn’t cry. But the game was fun again soon enough, and his mother sang while she made dinner that evening, and his father laughed at some game show on the telly, and everything was perfectly lovely.

* * *

Andrew’s idyllic, pleasant childhood was shattered several years later when he realized with a sudden and intense fear that he was in love with a boy. Not a girl, no matter how hard he tried. It was a  _ boy _ he was in love with in secondary school.

His name was Robbie. He was tall and slim and he was on Andrew’s fencing team. The two of them were equally matched, but Andrew thought Robbie was much, much more graceful. (This was true, but Andrew was stronger. The boxing lessons his father put him through did come in handy sometimes.) He had dark hair the color of rich oak, and freckles scattered across his cheeks, and he looked good in everything he wore. He made Andrew want to write sonnets. He made him want to sing hymns. He made him want to praise God for creating someone so beautiful. And he was very, very, definitely a boy.

Andrew was terrified. There he was, barely sixteen, and he had just committed one of the Biggest and Worst Sins. The sin of the flesh. The sin of lust. The sin of Strange Flesh. For the next several months he prayed and prayed and  _ prayed _ to God, alone in his room at night, for it to be taken away from him, this feeling, this  _ attraction. _ He didn’t want it. He couldn’t want it. It was wrong, and evil, and he was going to go to Hell and burn up in fire  _ forever _ if it didn’t go away. “I’m sorry,” he would cry to God, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to love him, I didn’t mean to be gay, just take it away, please,  _ please,  _ I’ll do anything, just make it  _ go away.” _

It didn’t go away.

For a time, then, he once again lost himself in books, shutting himself away, avoiding everyone who he thought might inspire these feelings again. He read his Bible cover to cover more times than he cared to count. He prayed diligently and was more devout and energetic in church than ever. He threw himself at the altar and wept, pleading and begging for God to take it all away. He even studied images of women, hoping that he’d find one even slightly as attractive as Robbie. (He didn’t.) And it still didn’t go away.

Eventually, he realized it wasn’t going to go away. It was a part of him, and he was going to have to accept that.

Once he accepted it, he tried reading the Bible again. And this time, different passages stuck out to him. Andrew saw through the whole of the book the bright, unending, unfailing love of God, his creator and Father. God, who created him in His image, who knew everything about him before he was even conceived, who formed him in his mother’s womb, who knew the number of hairs on his head and understood every thought in his mind. The same God who put the stars in the sky and the strange creatures in the depths made Andrew Zachariah Fell, a nobody from an average family in a small suburb in northern England.

That night, Andrew wept, not out of fear but out of joy. He apologized to God for ever doubting Him, thanked Him for creating him the way he was, and praised Him and all His mysterious ways.

Andrew told his parents the next day. His mother wept. His father turned his face away.

“We can work with this,” his mother said tearfully, while his father said, jaw set, “I didn’t raise a faggot.”

Andrew pursed his lips and stayed quiet. It could have gone much worse.

His parents treated him differently after that. The rest of his family, too. Steven was less of a companion to him now, and had reverted back to his childish snickering whenever Andrew made a mistake. His father would call him “that fag” to his siblings when he thought Andrew wasn’t listening, and his mother would sob over having “a queer for a son” while on the telephone with her sister, Constance. At family gatherings, his “conversion” was a frequent conversation which he had to fend off with increasingly clever quips and topic changers, and people began to make jokes about his looks and his voice and his mannerisms when they thought he wasn’t close enough to hear. Most terrifying of all was when Steven and some of his cousins confronted him and threatened to “beat the gay out of him,” and he just barely managed to escape before they could start throwing punches at him.

Through all of this, though, he was quiet. He managed to finish secondary school and move on to sixth form, passing all of his classes with flying colors. This, at least, appeased his parents somewhat, and he was relieved that he still held at least a shred of their approval.

Things came to a head when, in his last year of schooling, Andrew was shoved against a wall and beaten rather soundly by some people who had heard of his sexuality. He stumbled home with a nasty black eye, a fat lip, and more than a few bruised ribs, and his father simply glanced at him over the dinner table and said, “God’s finally intervening, it seems.”

“That is  _ not _ true,” Andrew snapped, tired and hurting and desperate. “It’s not true, He loves me, He created me this way. I’m not a  _ mistake, _ dad, I’m not an abomination. I was made this way, I’ve always  _ been _ this way.”

“Andrew, darling,” his mother said, “please, it’s a  _ sign. _ We can get you help. We can start over. We can get you past this  _ phase, _ we’ll get rid of whatever’s causing this and then you won’t hurt anymore.”

“It’s not a phase!” Andrew cried. “It’s not! Nothing’s caused this. Nothing is broken. Nothing needs to be fixed. There is nothing to  _ help. _ I am  _ fine _ the way I am.”

“You’re not  _ fine, _ you’re a  _ fag,” _ his father sneered. “It’s disgusting. There’s nothing  _ fine _ about it. It can’t even  _ work. _ There’s no  _ purpose _ to it.”

“The purpose is  _ love,” _ Andrew insisted, nearly begging now. “That’s all it is. That’s all it’s ever  _ been.” _

“Love,” his father snarled, as his mother began to cry softly in the background. “I’m done having you making a disturbance in the family. People have started to question my parenting. And I don’t blame them. I didn’t raise you to be one of those queers. Here’s how it’s going to go: you either get help or you leave. Simple as that.”

Andrew packed his bags and left that night. He called his elderly, ailing great-aunt from a payphone, half frantic, half devastated, and she agreed that he could come live with her for a time until he got his bearings. She understood where he was coming from. She knew his pain.

It was only days later that Andrew learned that he had been completely cut off from his entire family. Nobody would speak to him—not his mother, not his father, not even Steven. His extended relatives, when he called, would hang up when they heard his voice. It was as if he had been erased from his entire family tree. The only relative he had left was a dying old woman.

He cut off the church like his family cut him off. He tried attending several different churches and denominations, but he ended up leaving, whether by his own consent or not. Some congregations were far more welcoming than others, but most of them treated him just a bit different from everyone else, like he was a different species. He knew he didn’t belong. Eventually, he gave up trying.

When his aunt died not a year later, she left a sizable inheritance to him: her house, her enormous fortune, her two aging cats. All of them for him. Those things did not fill the void in his heart, though, no matter how much he wished them to.

After she died and her funeral was taken care of (a quiet affair, as nobody they were related to would come, and in her old age she had not maintained many acquaintances), Andrew took some of her life insurance and went to university for a degree in theology in a desperate attempt to sate his thirst for more and more knowledge about his own creation, the creation of the world, the creation of so many different kinds of people. University was a wonderful place, he discovered, full of other people just as eager to learn, and full of so many different  _ kinds _ of people. It was like seeing the world on a much smaller scale.

Andrew was  _ good _ at university. He attended all of his classes, finished all of his classwork, wrote excellent papers and turned them in on time to receive perfect grades, and passed every single class with ease. He loved it. He loved learning, he loved researching and writing and discovering new things. He loved engaging in conversations with his classmates and visiting his professors after class to discuss something he found particularly interesting. It was  _ wonderful. _

What Andrew was not good at, no matter how hard he tried, was  _ fitting in. _ Sure, he was able to make friends, but nobody ever stuck around for long. Passing study partners, occasional lunch companions. Nobody special or particularly memorable. Even his roommates barely spent time with him.

That didn’t mean he didn’t try, of course. By the end of his second term he had begun experimenting with changing his mannerisms to better blend in with those groups of people he found most fascinating. He had trysts with men and women alike (learning the word “bisexual” along the way and finding some deep comfort in it). He lost the name his parents gave him, shortened his middle name, and went by “Zira,” a rather  _ cool _ nickname if he did say so himself. (He grew rather attached to it later. He wanted to stop hearing his father’s voice when his birth name was spoken.) He  _ wanted _ to be like other people, have a crowd to move with, a circle to be a part of. He desperately wanted that connection, that bond with someone else, with a group of someones. He wanted to be able to call them in the middle of the night to gush about some new information he’d discovered or complain about a paper he was struggling with. He wanted to meet for lunch with them every day, to go to pubs in the evenings and laugh over drinks. He wanted the inside jokes and the knowing smiles and the  _ intimacy _ of it all.

Some circles welcomed him, for a time. They’d invite him in to study with them, and then they’d all go to the pub later on for dinner and drinks. They would commiserate over class together, laugh and joke about something that had happened in class. Zira would learn all of their names and document how they acted and what they said and how they said it, and he would mimic it back to them, and they would love him, for a time. And then they’d drift away, leave him behind, stop inviting him places until he’d eventually faded from their minds, a stranger passing briefly by. But he didn’t give up; he kept looking for that connection, no matter how difficult it got, no matter how crushed he began to feel when everyone eventually left him behind.

His second year, he finally found that connection. He found it in a young man named Todd. Todd was a history major, and he was tall and strong and he loved books nearly as much as Zira did. He had dark hair and he wore soft sweaters and carried a messenger bag over one shoulder. His friends were a rather eclectic mix of people, ranging from young ladies in dark eyeliner and torn clothing to a particularly memorable fellow who didn’t wear shoes half the time and tie-dyed most of his clothing by hand.

Todd seemed to take a real shine to Zira when they met in his Ancient Religions class. They met through a rather compelling conversation one of them had started in class, and afterwards, Todd had invited Zira to come have drinks with his friends. Zira had immediately accepted the offer, and that evening he met all of Todd’s friends.

Todd was loud when he was excited, and physical when he liked someone. There were always friendly touches, claps on the back, high-fives for a job well done. Todd would exclaim when he made some sort of a breakthrough in research and immediately turn to show Zira. Zira felt accepted by him, embraced by him. Todd didn’t seem to care one lick for who Zira was attracted to, and for that Zira was infinitely grateful. In fact, Zira learned a great deal about the apparently large community he was a part of through Todd and his friends. It was rather mind blowing, how many people like him were out there.

Todd was, in fact, so incredibly supportive of Zira that he’d actually set Zira up with more than a few young men, as well as a few women. Zira had, of course, found them rather attractive, and had more than a few one-night stands with handsome university students. Unfortunately, none of them were more than one-night stands.

It was too good to be true, of course. As always, Todd and his friends began to drift away from Zira. He started to hear them whispering behind his back, quiet laughter around his name, and then he’d learn later that they’d gone somewhere and done something and forgotten to invite him. And they drifted still further. By the second term of year two, Todd and his friends had left Zira behind, just like everyone else.

His third year, he tried one final time. This group of people was quieter, initially. A small group of individuals who were, apparently, dedicated to learning more about God. Zira, while not as devout as he once was, considered them a trustworthy group. Oh, how wrong he was.

It was their  _ second _ attempt to murder him that opened his eyes to what he’d gotten himself into. The first time could be passed off as a joke gone too far, influenced by a little too much alcohol. The second time, however, could not be passed off as anything so innocent. It was only when, after a few rounds of cards and a few drinks, they cornered him in a dim apartment and advanced on him with makeshift weapons that Zira realized he might have made a mistake.

They’d threatened to mutilate him, to dismember him, to damage him beyond repair. They told him it was God’s judgement being delivered through them, that it was what he deserved for being such an abomination. They told him he was possessed by demons, and they needed to beat them out of him, even if he died. They didn’t  _ want _ to kill him, they said, just as Zira’s vision began to get fuzzy and he realized, hazily, that he’d been  _ drugged. _ They only wanted to  _ help _ him, even if the only way to help him was to kill him.

He barely escaped with his life that night. He could barely remember how. His vision had swum before his eyes but, in a fit of adrenaline-spiked panic, he’d thrown out a few sloppy punches using what he’d remembered from his childhood boxing lessons, and managed to slip past them, staggering out into the night. He hadn’t been able to run far, but he was eventually able to hide and then stumble to a payphone to call the police.

That had been a long night. Not surprisingly, he lost trust in most people after that.  _ Especially  _ the truly religious ones.

From then on, he ate alone, studied alone, and lived alone. He worked and he saved money and he lived in his great-aunt’s house and he avoided everyone except the cats. He still passed every class, but he did it by himself.

As soon as he was out of university, he went back again. He needed more knowledge. It wasn’t enough. He published his first book halfway through graduate school, sold more than he thought, and kept on going. He avoided talking to people unless they were his professors. He rarely collaborated on projects with his classmates, no matter how often someone offered to help. He worked some more. He taught himself several languages, expanded his field of research, and kept on searching.

He was devoted to learning, to reading, to researching. He spent hours holed up in his home translating ancient manuscripts and restoring old books, hoarding the knowledge like a dragon hoards gold. Once he acquired his doctorate, he began to travel. He visited every country in Europe, half of Asia, and all of North America. He learned as much as he was able to. But most of all, he avoided people as much as he could. They didn’t want him around, so he wouldn’t be around him. He was content to share his knowledge from a distance, at least for a time.

Eventually, however, he needed a change. And it was just his luck that a teaching position had opened up at a London university. What the hell, he thought, let’s try something new.

When he got the job, he sold his great-aunt’s house and moved to London, him and all of his books. He settled in quickly, and got to know all of the small restaurants located both around his new flat and the university campus. It was all so exciting, so many new opportunities and experiences waiting to happen.

It was also terrifying. This was going to be the most people he would interact with since he graduated with a doctorate. But teaching was far different than learning, he assured himself. He wouldn’t have to talk to anybody outside of class. He was safe here. 

He was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY PLEASE PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I PROMISE IT GETS LESS SAD FROM HERE (mostly)  
i'll have the next chapter out prooobably next week!!! two chapters left in part 1!!!! i love u guys!!!!! please feel free to be angry with me in the comments lmao and DONT FORGET to tell me if u want to see a minor character i havent featured yet!!!!!!!


	15. Interventions and Epiphanies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four weeks pass. The Them gangs up on two helpless professors. Crowley and Zira experience a few epiphanies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT THIS ONE TOOK FOREVER I'LL OWN THAT. HOWEVER it's because shit has been so stressful because of the pandemic or whatever, so maybe all you lovely readers can excuse me! My university has moved all its classes online for the rest of the semester, so maybe I'll have more time to write, maybe I won't. We'll see. ANYWAY, this chapter is when things start to come to a head! Next chapter is when things begin to mend! Happiness is on the horizon for these two!
> 
> I love all you lovely folks, thanks for sticking with me thus far!

Four weeks passed. Zira and Crowley rarely saw each other on campus, and when they did, they would purposefully avoid looking at the other, heads ducked and eyes downcast.

Sometimes, though, Crowley wouldn’t be able to help themself, and they would sneak a glance at Zira as he walked away, pretending not to notice them there. Their heart ached whenever they looked upon him, and sometimes, they longed to call out to him, to shout to him, to ask him what the  _ hell _ was his problem, to tell him to  _ come back, come back, I need to hear your voice again. _ They knew it could never be, that Zira didn’t want to be around them anymore, that Zira hated them and wanted to avoid them at all costs. And on some level, they did too; they couldn’t bear the reminder of the heartbreak and hurt they’d experienced, couldn’t go a day without hearing Zira’s shouts echoing in their ears.

In those weeks, Crowley’s canvases saw a lot more violence than usual: half-finished paintings trashed, punched through, thrown against a wall. Paint splashed everywhere, bottles of gesso knocked over and left to congeal on the rumpled drop-cloths, brushes snapped in half and then re-glued in a moment of repentance. Finished paintings were smeared with black and red, others covered in deep blues and greys. Many nights found the troubled artist leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, knees tucked to their chest, staring up at the scattered stars far above them, silent tears dripping from their chin to mix with the paint stains on the floor.

Despite everything, Crowley seemed carefully unbothered while they taught, though sometimes their voice would become sharper, harsher, louder. Their students, while aware of their temper and tendency to get overly excited about ancient artworks, noticed a slight change in their demeanor, a more forced enthusiasm, less ferve and more fret in the rising of their voice.

A pair of their students, two girls who diligently attended each one of their lectures and received stellar marks on all their assignments and exams, approached them after one such lecture, about two weeks after The Incident. “Dr Crowley,” the smartly-dressed one said, “is something wrong?”

“Only,” the one wearing triple-denim added, “you see, Wendy and I have noticed that you’re not yourself lately.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow over the rim of their glasses.

Wendy tried again. “Actually. We normally wouldn’t be asking this, but Dr Fell has been acting weird, too. So we wondered if, maybe, something happened.”

Crowley scowled at the students. “It’s none of your business,” they said sharply. “You’re far too nosy for your own good.”

Wendy and the other one (Paprika? Ginger? It was a spice, they were sure) exchanged a glance. “We just want to make sure you’re alright. And Dr Fell, too,” the Spice Girl said.

Crowley sighed theatrically. “Look,” they said. “It’s very complicated, and also very stressful, and something definitely happened that nobody is talking about because it’s very personal and also, probably, boring to a couple of kids.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Actually, if anything was boring, it would be Dr Fell’s History of Religion class, but—”

“We are  _ not _ talking about Dr  _ Fell _ anymore,” Crowley spat, and began to usher the two annoying students from their classroom. “Go bother  _ him _ if you’re so worried about it. We’re done here.”

The students protested right up until Crowley shoved them out the door and closed it behind them with a  _ slam. _ They waited until the two girls’ voices had faded, then leaned their forehead heavily against the door and sighed. They didn’t  _ want _ to think about it. They didn’t  _ want _ to be reminded that, despite literally everything that had happened, their heart still thundered at the mention of Zira’s name.

Wearily, they reached under their glasses to scrub at their eyes. “Ugh,” they said, then, “urgh.” They pulled a face. They had another lecture soon in a different room. They hurried back to the desk, gathered up their messenger bag and all their papers, and left the room.

Things did eventually start to get better. The Sunday two weeks after The Incident, Crowley had another appointment with their therapist. They swaggered into her office with a touch more of their old bravado, and she smiled at them as they sat down before her. “Hullo,” Crowley said, pushing their sunglasses up their nose and crossing an ankle over their knee.

“Good morning, Crowley,” she replied warmly. “I see you’re doing better.”

Crowley nodded. “Actually felt… good this morning, when I woke up. Like maybe the world wasn’t gonna be out to get me today.”

“Very good. I’m glad you’re regaining some of your optimism. How have things been?”

“Ugh,” Crowley said theatrically. “Finals week is coming up fast. I’m having to scramble to fit everything into my lectures.”

“Sounds stressful.” She made a note. “Things going well with your co-workers?”

Crowley stiffened slightly. “Eh,” they said as casually as possible. “As well as possible when you’re working with a bunch of demons.”

“Back to the demon metaphor, huh?” she asked, amused. “You really are your old self again.”

Crowley, presumably, rolled their eyes behind their dark glasses. “Look, it’s hard  _ not _ to compare them to Hell’s employees. D’you know how many times I’ve caught Hastur and Ligur snogging it up in public?” They emphasized their point with a full-body shudder. “Eurgh. Torture, that’s what it is.”

She laughed a little. “And how are your friends?”

Crowley shrugged. “Same as ever. Nothing to report. They’ve actually been…” They bit their lip, tapped their fingers on their knee. “They’ve been there for me a lot these last few weeks. I honestly… I didn’t think…” They cut themself off and turned their face away slightly, expression drawn tight.

“You didn’t think they’d stick around,” she said. “Is that right?”

Crowley nodded, the movement sharp and jerky. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“You know already.”

“I want you to acknowledge it.”

“I’ve done that already, too.”

“Do it again for me?”

Crowley sighed. “Fine. I didn’t think they’d stick around because I thought they liked  _ Zira _ better than me.” The name was bitter in their mouth. “Thought they’d see that I wasn’t good enough compared to him. You know. He left me, I thought the others would follow.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “But they didn’t. So what does that say about you, Crowley?”

They inhaled sharply. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You need to. It’s important that you say it aloud.”

They scowled, face pinched. “It means that I’m better than I think I am.”

“Thank you for saying it.” She smiled. “Time for a break, I think. Do you want tea?”

They nodded. Their chest felt tight. Tea sounded wonderful. Maybe it would loosen up whatever was lodged down near their lungs, make the air go down easier. “Thanks,” they said quietly.

“Don’t thank me, please,” she laughed, getting up to fill two mugs from the electric kettle. “It’s my job.”

* * *

Zira was not having a good time of it.

Since The Incident, he was finding it more difficult to sleep at night and get out of bed in the mornings. He found himself putting less effort into his lessons, unable to expend as much energy on teaching as he used to. And he was spending far too much time sitting alone in either his office or his flat.

Sometimes, he would pass Crowley on campus, and he would quickly avert his eyes, duck his head, and walk past quickly. If there was one thing he wished to avoid, it was reminders of The Incident. No matter that Crowley still had plenty of friends, that Crowley also ducked their head and averted their gaze and walked quickly away, that Crowley didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. It was fine. He didn’t want anything to do with them anymore either.

Gabriel, of course, had caught wind of what Zira had done and congratulated him shortly thereafter. “I’m so proud of you,” he had said, clapping Zira on the shoulder. “I’m glad you finally decided to stand up for yourself and for what’s right.”

Zira had given him a weak smile and said something about the importance of morals, probably, and promptly bustled off to his office where he stared at the pages of a book without reading a single word. Something deep in his heart ached when he thought about Gabriel’s congratulations.

He shoved it down, shook it off, and tried to return to his usual pleasant, beaming self.

It didn’t quite work.

His smiles in his lectures were shaky. His typically bright eyes had dulled. His rumpled clothing grew even more rumpled. His voice lost some of its energy when he lectured. His fingers fidgeted where he clasped his hands in front of him.

Probably the most drastic change for him was the cooking. Namely, that he all but stopped entirely. He simply did not have the motivation for it anymore. He would stand in the kitchen for several minutes, looking lost, then slump defeated in a chair and order takeaway.

He ordered a  _ lot _ of takeaway.

Eventually, about two weeks after The Incident, Zira was confronted by a small gaggle of his History of Religions students. “Hello,” he said nervously as the four close friends everyone simply referred to as “Them” crowded around him after class. “Can I help you?”

“Are you okay, professor?” Adam asked. His wide brown eyes were filled with concern.

“We’re worried about you,” Brian added.

“Only,” Pepper chimed in, “you’ve been acting very weird lately. We noticed.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Usually we like your class, and you’re very smiley and excited. But you haven’t smiled at all in the last two weeks, and your class has gotten really boring. We want your class to be fun again, so that’s why we’re talking to you.”

“Actually, we wanted to ask you about it,” Wendy continued. “Did something happen?”

“Do you need help?”

“Is it family drama?”

“A breakup?”

“Are you having financial difficulties?”

“Did your house burn down?”

“ _ Adam!”  _ Pepper scolded, and the boy had the decency to look ashamed.

Dr Fell pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I’m perfectly alright, children. There’s no need to worry about me. You know I’m new here, and I’m not quite used to the stress of final exams yet. That’s all it is.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “You’re a very bad liar, Dr Fell.”

“But,” Pepper added sharply, “we won’t keep asking if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Dr Fell sighed. “Thank you. Now, run along, you all have papers to outline. I expect to see some sort of progress by next class.”

All four of them groaned and filed out the door, leaving Dr Fell to stare after them with an unreadable expression marring his face. As soon as the door shut behind them, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course he was acting different. Of course he wasn’t smiling. Of course he had no energy. How was he supposed to go back to normal when his entire life was crumbling around him? How was he supposed to enjoy things if he had no friends with whom to enjoy them? How could he ever smile when he’d lost the one thing that had consistently made him happy?

He knew what his parents would say if they were there: Sometimes when you do the right thing, you will suffer, if it is God’s will. Or something to that effect, at least. It should have been comforting, this idea that he had done the right thing and the hurt would pass. But somehow, it wasn’t a comfort to him at all. Doing the right thing wasn’t supposed to hurt. If he had truly done the right thing, he would feel lighter for it. And yet, he felt even heavier now, like he was slowly being crushed beneath the weight of his own decision.

A small seed of doubt sparked to life in the back of his mind. Perhaps he’d dealt with his problem in the wrong way. Perhaps… perhaps he’d dealt with the wrong problem.

He crushed the thought down and shoved it away almost immediately.

Things got worse from there. Over the next two weeks, Zira spent more nights awake than asleep. He would lie in bed with the lights on, just staring at the ceiling, mind blank but body far too restless to fall asleep. He would forget to eat, instead spending his time detached from his body, floating in a sort of haze in his flat or his office. His students began to notice the circles under his eyes, the way his hands fidgeted and trembled as he clutched them in front of him instead of gesturing as he talked, as he would normally.

The Them confronted him again, just before finals week was upon them.

“Dr Fell,” Adam announced, he and his friends crowding around the nervous little professor, “we are here to stage An Intervention.” The capital letters were made quite obvious.

“Yeah,” Brian said. “We can’t sit idly by and watch you suffer.”

“Something’s the matter,” Pepper continued, crossing her arms. “And we don’t care what it is, we just want you to take care of yourself.”

“Actually,” Wendy said, “we  _ do _ care what it is, and we’re really very curious, but you don’t have to tell us if it’s too personal.”

“Anyway,” Adam said. “We’re taking you for coffee and you can’t stop us.”

“Our treat,” Brian said.

“You can’t say no.”

“I don’t like coffee,” Zira protested weakly.

“Tea, then,” Adam declared. “Come on.”

Zira was dragged against his will to the little cafe down the street. All five of them crowded around a little table with various pastries and cups of coffee and tea. “You really don’t have to do this,” Zira argued, sipping his tea. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t touch the pastries.

“Oh, yes we do,” Pepper said. “You look awful, Dr Fell.”

“We don’t make a habit of doing this with our professors,” Brian said. “But we like you a lot, Dr Fell, and we like your class.”

“Actually, since you’re our queer uncle now,” Wendy piped up, “we have to treat you like the adopted family you are.”

“‘S only right,” Adam said, “since you’ve made this term so fun for us, and helped me out so much.”

“‘Sides,” Brian said through a mouthful of pastry, “you’re one of the few openly queer faculty members here, ‘n you’re new, so someone’s gotta make you feel welcome.”

Zira pressed his lips together. “I suppose,” he said weakly.

After this little display of emotion from the students, the four of Them began to chatter amongst themselves and to Zira about their other classes and the stress of upcoming exams, about the other friends they had made, and about the few other queer faculty members they’d encountered.

“Dr Zebub is very cool,” Wendy said. “Ze’s the dean of the art and art history department. I’ve seen some of zir art online. Very weird.”

“Macabre,” Pepper added.

“Creepy.” Wendy made a face. “Lots of bug motifs.”

“I think it’s cool,” Pepper countered.

“I mean, yeah,” Wendy agreed, “it’s cool n’ all, but ze has a very strange fixation on flies. Spooky.”

“We’ve all got some sort of weird interest,” Adam said. “Zirs is flies.”

“And yours is that cute goth kid in your astronomy class,” Pepper grinned.

“Stop!” Adam squawked, shoving Pepper. “Dr Fell doesn’t need to know about that!”

“Maybe he does,” Brian smirked. “Maybe our wise older queer uncle can give you some advice on how to pursue a cute goth kid.”

“No,” Zira said hastily, “I’m… I’m really not at all good at that sort of thing. Please don’t ask me.”

The students looked disappointed but didn’t press it.

Zira looked at his watch. “Oh my,” he said, “look at the time. I really must be going. I’ll pay for lunch, it’s no trouble—”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Pepper said. “This was our treat, we’re paying.”

Brian glared at her.

“Fine,” Pepper sighed.  _ “I’m _ paying.”

“No, I really can’t allow it,” Zira insisted, and before the students could argue further he approached the register and paid for the beverages and pastries. “Thank you for tea,” Zira said to the Them, and then he had bustled out the door and made a run for his office.

* * *

That night, Zira lay awake in bed, thinking about Crowley, and about something Brian had said at the cafe:  _ “You’re one of the few openly queer faculty members, and you’re new, so someone’s gotta make you feel welcome.” _

Crowley was who had originally made him feel welcome. Crowley was the one who had helped him move his books to his office, invited him for lunch, and went out of their way to see him often. They had given him tips on grading, on lecturing, and on maintaining relationships with students. They had kept him up late into the night talking about things he was interested in and indulged him in whatever he wanted. They had defended him from the scorn of close-minded faculty, introduced him to their friends, and let him know that he was not alone. They had been kind, in their own aloof way, and sweet, in a rather closed-off way. They had been generous without making it a big deal, and had supported him while pretending not to care.

Crowley had been the most eager, most welcoming person on campus, who listened carefully and cared for him unconditionally. And he had turned them away, spurned their kindness, denied their affections, and made it seem like their fault.

He’d thought it was the right thing to do. He’d been afraid. Hell, he still  _ was _ afraid. He was terrified of who he was, of what that meant for his relationship with his family, of what that meant for everything he believed in. Despite everything, despite his family already knowing, despite having already removed himself from that situation, he was still afraid of being found out and cast out.

Cast out of  _ where? _ Out of the school? Out of society? Out of  _ Heaven _ (if such a place truly existed)?

It was, Zira realized in that moment, a completely irrational fear, baseless and meaningless. Because of his fear, he had hurt his closest, truest friend and ruined so much for both of them. Because of his fear, he and Crowley were both suffering awfully. And the thing he was afraid of wasn’t even  _ real. _

He should have known, when  _ Gabriel _ of all people had praised him for his decision, that he had done something terribly wrong. But, of course, in that moment, all he had desperately wished for was his family’s approval, was for the way things had been when he was a child. Here, now, laying in his bed late at night, Zira knew deeply and certainly that things would never be that way again, unless he tried to fundamentally change who he was. And that prospect was, somehow, even more terrifying.

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ Zira said aloud to his ceiling, absolutely horrified. “Fucking  _ hell.” _

He needed to beg for forgiveness, and he needed to do it as soon as possible. It was the only way he could even attempt to fix what he had done.

* * *

Zira wasn’t the only one lying awake late at night, thinking far too hard. On the same night, at the same time, Crowley found themself thinking about a certain blond professor and his bright smile. They  _ missed  _ him. It had been an entire month, and they  _ still _ missed him.

They missed his smile. They missed the way his eyes lit up when he was excited about something, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. They missed the way he would run a hand through his perpetually-messy curls when he was thinking very hard, and the way he could switch seamlessly into Japanese when they would go out for sushi together. They missed the way his brows furrowed when he was deep into grading or reading a good book, and the way he looked when he was completely at ease. They missed when he would cook for them, when they would sit and drink wine late into the night and talk about nothing. They missed their text conversations, their late-night phone calls, their daily lunch meetings.

Most of all, though, they missed the way he would smile at them when he said their name. They missed hearing their name in his mouth.

His  _ mouth. _ Oh, how Crowley longed to be able to stare at that mouth from behind their dark glasses again. How they wished to be sitting in a restaurant with Zira, watching him eat, savoring every bite. How they yearned to see the way his lips pursed when he was annoyed, how they drew back in a wide grin when he was overjoyed. It had been four weeks, and Crowley still longed to kiss those lips.

How the  _ hell _ were they still in love with that bastard? It had been four weeks! Zira had insulted them to their face! He had told them, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted nothing to do with them! He had shouted at them, denied their friendship, and shoved them unceremoniously out of his life. How the fuck did Crowley still love him, after all that?

Maybe, they thought, it was because of how much Zira had changed since he had pushed them away. Maybe it was because, when they passed each other on campus, Crowley had noticed the looks Zira had cast at them. Maybe it was because of the misery in his posture, the dark rings under his eyes, the emptiness in his expression. Maybe it was because of how much their separation had been affecting him, too.

Maybe Crowley was clinging onto this shred of hope a little too hard. They didn’t care. It was something, just one possibility, and they were going to clutch it like a lifeline until it snapped.

They needed to talk to him. They needed to ask him if he really meant it.

...Maybe after winter holiday, when they’d each had some time alone to think. Finals week was not a good time to spring it on Zira, and they didn’t want the added stress to make things worse. After the winter holiday, they’d approach Zira and ask him, no, beg him, to let them back into his life. Even if it didn’t work, even if he didn’t let them back in, they’d have tried, they’d have some closure, they would’ve had one last conversation with him.

They would do anything to hear their name in Zira’s mouth one more time.

* * *

Finals week was finally upon them. Both professors found themselves stressed, stir-crazy, and ready for the winter holiday to just  _ start already. _ Both of them hated proctoring exams, sitting at the front of a quiet room, observing their students to make sure nobody cheated but otherwise left with nothing to do. Crowley clicked mindlessly through the slideshow of artworks the students had to identify, bored as hell, their leg bouncing with their pent-up stress. Zira tried reading through the exams but was unable to focus through his tension.

On top of the stress of finals, both Crowley and Zira found themselves incredibly jittery and anxious about the revelations they had each experienced less than a week ago. Now, when they passed each other on campus, their stolen glances were full of yearning, a desire to talk to one another but an inability to follow through with their desire.  _ Just a little longer, _ they each told themselves.  _ Just wait a little longer. _

Eventually, however, the exam week drew to a close, and everyone began to pack up and leave for winter holiday. Friday afternoon, Zira was carrying a box of things from his office out to his car when Crowley made to walk past him.

Both professors hesitated.

“I—” Crowley began, staring at Zira from behind their glasses, looking rather stricken.

Zira stared back, tense and waiting.

“H-have a good holiday,” Crowley stammered out, then turned on their heel and fled into the building, leaving Zira to look after them with something to say right on the tip of his tongue, unable to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT ALRIGHT WHO'S READY FOR SHIT TO GET FIXED ALREADY??? who's going to approach who first????? leave your predictions in the comments!!!! and don't forget to leave a kudos if you haven't already :3
> 
> pls remember to feed and water ur content creators by the way! we do all this for free, so you can thank us by liking, commenting, sharing, reblogging, and recommending our work! there's nothing that makes a creator happier than reading everyone's wonderful commentary on our work :)
> 
> love you guys, see you next chapter for the end of part one!


	16. Mend the Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zira is brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT AN APRIL FOOL'S JOKE! I'M ACTUALLY UPDATING!
> 
> this chapter was SUCH a relief to write. i've been spending SO MUCH TIME on it, trying to get it just right without taking these two out of character. 15 chapters of character development have culminated in this chapter, the end of part 1 of this fic, and i really really hope it lives up to everyone's expectations. no warnings for this chapter, only cautious tenderness and the start of a true healing process.

It was five-thirty in the afternoon on December 19th. Snow, of course, was uncommon in London, but the clouds overhead were dark and heavy with impending precipitation. Inside his small flat, disorganized and piled high with books, Zira paced back and forth, wringing his hands and fretting.

He should apologize. He shouldn’t wait too long. There was no reason to drag it out. It needed to be done sooner rather than later.

But it was almost Christmas! Crowley wouldn’t want to be reminded of Zira’s mistake right before Christmas! Besides, they could have company over. The last thing Zira wanted to do was intrude.

But he didn’t want Crowley to think that it took him so long to realize that he’d made a mistake. What if he waited until after the holidays only to learn that Crowley had already moved on and didn’t want to see or hear from Zira ever again? That might be even worse.

No, Zira needed to approach Crowley  _ now. _ He needed to talk to them as soon as possible, before he lost his nerve. He needed to say his part, to get closure, to give  _ Crowley _ closure. There was nothing more to be done.

He knew he was sorry, deep in his soul. It wasn’t a selfish thing. It wasn’t a decision made out of fear. He wasn’t just emotional, lonely, miserable, desperate, however one wanted to classify it. He was deeply, deeply remorseful over what he’d done. He’d hurt Crowley. He’d destroyed Crowley’s trust, their affection, their connection. He’d pushed them away.

Worse, he’d done it because he considered those who hurt him as more important than the one person who made him feel truly welcomed, appreciated, and loved  _ because _ of who he was. He’d placed his family, those who had hurt him and despised him and cut him off, in a higher place of affection than his best friend.

Determination clutched at Zira. He needed to do this  _ now. _

Purpose in his step, Zira headed for the door.

No, wait, there was something else that had to be done first. Something very, very important.

Zira slipped his mobile out of his pocket and dialled a number. It rang once, twice, three times.

On the fourth ring, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Constance,” Zira said, and valiantly fought the tremble out of his voice. “Hello.”

“Andrew,” Constance replied. She sounded surprised. “I told you not to call this number.”

“Well, I did. And I have something to say, so listen up.” Zira took a deep breath. “Tell my parents to go fuck themselves. You too, for that matter. In fact, tell the whole sodding family. I’m done with all of you. You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do, and I don’t want to change, and I couldn’t even if I wanted to. No amount of guilt or fear can change who I am. My fear of all of you has been controlling me for far too long. I refuse to give in to any of you anymore. Never contact me again. Good-bye.”

He was just able to hear Constance’s scandalized gasp before he hung up, hands trembling, chest swelling with a strange mix of fear and pride. He felt terrified. He felt sad. He felt  _ lighter _ .

Pocketing his mobile and taking a deep, steadying breath, Zira strode out his door and into the chilly December afternoon.

* * *

It was seven in the evening on December 19th. There was a chilly mix of rain and snow coming down outside Crowley’s cottage, and they had settled themself on their sofa with a cup of tea in their hands and a Christmas movie on the television to stave off the cold.

There was a knock on the door.

Crowley froze, and paused the movie. Who could be out there in these conditions?

They got up and went to the door, hoping it wasn’t Rhoda from down the street. She was almost eighty years old, she really shouldn’t be out in this weather! But when they opened the door, they were not at all expecting who they saw on their doorstep, soaked with rain and snow and doing his best not to shiver.

“Crowley,” Zira said.

Crowley slammed the door in his face.

They pressed their back against the door, heart pounding in their throat, terror shooting through them. This was the  _ last thing _ they had expected a week before Christmas. Why was he here? What did he want? Why  _ now? _

Crowley took a deep breath. They were going to tell him to leave. They were going to tell him they never wanted to see him again. They were going to tell him that he  _ hurt _ them and they didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

They opened the door, looked at him, and everything he had meant to say went right out the window as soon as those bright eyes were fixed on their own. “What do you want?” they said instead, meaning to sound surly, but ending up sounding more panicked.

“Crowley,” Zira said again, his voice shaking. “Please — please just listen to me. You don’t have to — to do anything, or, or say anything. You can close the door and forget about all of this after, if you want. Just…  _ please, _ just let me try to apologize.”

Crowley stiffened, but stayed where they were, staring wide-eyed at Zira.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Zira continued, obviously trying incredibly hard to not break down into tears. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, I hurt you, I know I did. I was cruel to you and pushed you away and said all sorts of horrid things to you that I didn’t at all mean and which you really didn’t deserve.” A tear slipped down his cheek, then another. “You’re so wonderful, Crowley, but I said those things anyway, and I know how terrible to you I was, I really do, and it’ll never happen again, I swear it.” He let out a choked sob, pressing a hand to his mouth. “You’re my best friend, Crowley. I can’t think of how I can fix this but I would do anything, Crowley, I would, I really would, I’m so so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Crowley could do nothing but stare, mouth slightly open, hands gripping the doorframe to keep themselves upright. They weren’t expecting Zira to show up. They  _ certainly _ hadn’t been expecting an  _ apology. _ Eventually, though, a single strangled “What?” escaped their mouth, the only word that had managed to escape their tumultuous thoughts.

“It’s okay,” Zira said weakly, “if you can’t forgive me. I truly do understand.”

Crowley’s heart was in their throat. “Zira,” they said, strained and disbelieving. “I…”

Zira turned. “It’s alright,” he said again. “I’ll go. Have a lovely holiday, Crowley.”

“No,” Crowley said, far too loudly. They took a step forward towards Zira, who turned, looking stricken. Crowley was certain they looked much the same. “No,” they said again, “please. Let me…” They shook their head, pressing a hand to their forehead. “Just come inside, Zira, it’s freezing out here. I need to gather my thoughts but I’m not gonna make you stay out here.”

Crowley stepped inside and Zira cautiously followed, closing the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, wringing his hands and looking wretched and lost, his blond curls flattened by the icy rain and his jumper all but soaked through. Crowley stared at him for a very long moment. “I’ll put on the kettle,” they said finally, their expression carefully shielded as they turned to duck into the kitchen. “There’s towels in the closet down the hallway.”

“Thank you,” Zira said, his voice quavering, and he headed in the direction Crowley pointed to retrieve a towel from the linen closet.

They reconvened in the sitting room, a tense and awkward silence mounting between them. Neither of them sat on the sofa, both feeling much too tense, far too anxious.

“I don’t understand,” Crowley said blankly, when the silence grew too much to bear. Their hands fidgeted with the hem of their shirt, twisting and untwisting the fabric between their fingers. They didn’t look at Zira. “Why are you here?”

Zira took in a sharp breath. “I came to apologize for what I said,” he explained, sounding anxious and tired and sad. “I can’t take it back, I know that. I know how cruel I was, and how much I hurt you. But I thought…” He broke off, sighed. “I thought I could at least come and beg for your forgiveness. It can’t fix what I did, and I don’t expect to go back to the way things were, but I wanted you to know how desperately I regret everything I said and how much I truly do care for you.”

Crowley’s shoulders hunched, shoving their hands deep into their pockets to try to force them to stop shaking. “You told me I was making bad things happen to you,” they said quietly. “You said we couldn’t be friends because of my reputation. You said I made you do things you didn’t want to do. You said I was ruining your life.” Their voice broke. “You yelled at me and told me to leave you alone. So I left you alone. Even though it broke my heart. Even though it hurt me  _ every single day _ to see you. 

“I didn’t want to leave. It was the  _ last thing _ I wanted. It  _ destroyed me _ to step out of your office and go about life on my own. But you  _ know _ I would do anything you told me to, Zira. You  _ know _ that’s how deep this goes. You told me you’d be better off without me, so I thought the same. You told me to go, so I went. You told me to leave you alone, so I kept my distance.”

Crowley tangled a hand in their hair. “And now you come knocking on my door not even a week before Christmas, standing in there in the rain like we’re in some sort of, of, bad chick flick, and you apologize in the stupidest, most cliche manner possible, looking like some sort of—drowned  _ puppy, _ and you think that I, what,  _ hate _ you? Zira, I kept my distance because I—” Crowley let out a snarl and tugged on their hair. “It’s because I  _ care _ about you, halfwit. I can’t fucking—” They glanced up at Zira, who was staring at them with huge wet eyes from behind his glasses. “What?” they snapped.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Zira sniffled, “I’m just so glad you don’t hate me.”

Crowley sighed and closed their eyes, dropping their face into their hands. “I could never hate you, Zira,” they said softly. “I’ve been angry, and I’ve been sad, and depressed, and overall very, very unhappy—” here they looked up at him— “but I’ve never hated you, or resented you, or despised you. I really don’t think you  _ could  _ do anything to make me hate you, Zira. ‘S not in your nature.”

Their face softened, just slightly, and they stood up straighter to look him in the eye. “I forgive you, Zira. I can’t forget, I’m not putting it behind us just like that—but I can forgive you.”

Zira’s face crumpled, and he burst into tears, right there in Crowley’s sitting room. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wept, “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Don’t cry, Zira,” Crowley pleaded, taken aback by the sudden outburst of emotion. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Zira said again, wiping futilely at his face with the towel, “I’m not—I’m just—I missed you so  _ terribly, _ Crowley, I’m so glad you’re giving me a second chance.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley said, shrugging as if their friend wasn’t crying in their sitting room and making them incredibly nervous by how weepy he was getting, “don’t expect a third chance. I’m not going through this again.”

Zira nodded emphatically through his tears. “This will  _ never _ happen again, Crowley, I swear it. You’re my dearest friend, I will never treat you poorly ever again.”

“You should never have had to promise that in the first place,” Crowley grumbled, “but hey, it’s something.”

Zira looked rather crestfallen, and Crowley took that as their cue to make a quick exit to the kitchen, using the whistling kettle as a convenient excuse to leave. As soon as Crowley was out of Zira’s sight, they sighed heavily and leaned against the kitchen island. They were so full of conflicting emotions they could barely stay upright. Zira was  _ here. _ Zira had  _ apologized. _ Zira  _ cared about them. _ It was beyond anything they had hoped for.

But it was also painful, confusing, disorienting. Why here? Why now? Why did Zira think he had the right to come to Crowley’s house and beg for their forgiveness after all this time? It had been  _ weeks. _ Crowley had been getting therapy for this. They had been recovering. Things were no longer raw but they were still tender, they still hurt if pressed.

Crowley took a deep breath to steady themself, then set about going through the motions of making tea, to give their hands something to do and because that was what they said they had come out here to do. They almost called out to ask Zira how he took his tea before they remembered — they already knew how he took his tea. Just another thing, really, that grabbed them by the heart and wrenched it painfully with the reminder that they  _ loved _ him.

They emerged from the kitchen, two cups of tea in hand, and passed one to Zira. “Here,” they said, mouth twisting in an unreadable expression, and stepped past him to take a seat on their sofa. Zira stared at them, clutching his cup of tea, looking a little lost. Crowley rolled their eyes. “You can sit down,” they told him. “I’m not letting you leave until you stop looking like death. Besides,” they added, as Zira stepped timidly closer, “I think… I want to talk. With you.”

Zira flinched, but sat down at the far end of the sofa from Crowley. “What about?” he asked, eyeing Crowley.

Crowley shrugged. There were so many things they wanted to talk about. Why did Zira say all of that in the first place? Why was he really here now? How did he feel about Crowley? “Catching up. It’s been a month, Zira. What’s been happening for you? How did finals go? Any plans for Christmas?” There was a desperate undertone to their voice, a yearning for things to seem normal again.

Zira relaxed slightly. “Oh,” he said, and took a sip of his tea. “Well,” he began, then paused. Crowley watched him carefully, the way his expression went through minute changes. Something painful and tight settled around his eyes. “I really didn’t have much time, these past several weeks, to do anything very interesting,” he said. “I mostly spent my time working on my lectures and organizing things for finals.”

“Right, yeah,” Crowley said. “I did much of the same. I thought finals week was going to end me, Zira. You have no idea. I was going to die of boredom.”

“Oh, goodness, me too,” Zira said, his nose scrunching up in distaste. “I would rather not go through that again.”

“End of every semester, Zira,” Crowley said dryly. “You can’t escape.”

“Maybe if I call out sick every exam week. I can get someone else to sit in.”

“Why, Zira, that would be dishonest!”

“And maybe sometimes I want to be a little dishonest,” he declared, sticking out his chin defiantly. “Maybe I’m dishonest now.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Zira scrambled to correct. “Not — not about this, never about this, and — and never to you. Never again to you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s thin lip went thinner. “Mmm,” they said.

Zira sighed, his spurt of good humor quickly slipping away. “I know your trust in me must be… weak, right now. I understand. I don’t trust myself much, either.” He shook his head, turning away from Crowley. “I’ve been ruled by fear for so long. Everything I’ve done, and everything I haven’t done — it’s been because of my fear. I’ve been unable to rely on anything else for so long, it’s become the only thing I trust.

“I admit I’m not a brave man, Crowley, nor am I always truthful or forthcoming about myself or how I feel. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, a lot that I admit I haven’t been willing to share because of my fear. I admit I’ve made a lot of mistakes because of my fear.” He turned back again, looking Crowley in the eye. “I will never make decisions based on fear ever again. Not after it has let me down so many times. And especially not when it comes to you.”

Crowley stared at him. “Right,” they said, their voice strangled. They swallowed. Blinked. Stared some more.

Zira hunched his shoulders, looking away once again. “I did something brave today,” he said softly. “For the first time in a very long time.” He took a sip from his cup of tea and swallowed hard, then exhaled a shuddering breath. “I told my family to fuck off.”

“You  _ what?” _ Crowley spluttered.

“My whole family,” Zira said, a distant look on his face. “I’ve been cut off from them for some time, but I suppose they still had a grip on me until today, in some strange way. They called me recently, several times, did you know? Told me that if I ‘repented’ I could come back to the family. Just like that. All I had to do was stop being gay. It wasn’t going to happen, I already knew that, but I was… I was  _ so afraid _ to tell them that.

“But today I called my cousin and told her exactly what I thought of the entire bloody lot of them. I told her to tell my parents to go fuck themselves.” He let out a little giggle. It was slightly manic. Crowley chose not to comment. “I said I was finished with the entire family. Asked them to never contact me again. And that was that.”

He chanced another look at Crowley, who was staring at him with a mix of horror, awe, and pride. “That’s… Zira, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anyone in my entire life.” They gave him a small smile, which he briefly returned.

“It feels… so good,” he said, expression going rather distant again. “I feel so much lighter, Crowley. I feel free, like there’s so many things I’m able to do now which I couldn’t before.”

Crowley nodded. “I know the feeling.” They touched his shoulder, a brief brush of contact, and he looked at them. “Bravery looks good on you, Zira. I mean it.”

Zira grinned now, a small thing, but genuine. “Thank you,” he said.

“But,” Crowley added, sticking up one long, slender finger, “this isn’t something that can easily be solved by telling your family to sod off. I  _ know _ that this sort of thing sticks around. It  _ grows _ in you, even when you’re not actively feeding it. It can sit quiet in you for a long, long time, and then it’ll just pop up out of nowhere and consume you.” At the look on Zira’s face, they continued, “So here’s what you should do:  _ get help. _ You need to get help, Zira. Find a therapist. Find someone who you can talk to about all of your problems, then give you good solutions or ways to handle how you’re feeling. You’ve been dealing with all of this on your own for far too long, Zira. Don’t do it on your own anymore.”

A look of trepidation crossed Zira’s face, before determination overcame it. “I can do that, Crowley. Thank you.” He bit his lip. “Your concern means quite a lot to me.”

“Well, what kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t concerned about you?”

The smile Zira gave them, teary and grateful, could have powered all of London.

The two talked for another hour, lost in conversation, the remaining tension in the air slowly dissolving as they sank back into the familiar rhythm of their interactions. Eventually, however, Crowley said, “This rain’s supposed to start turning to ice overnight. You should leave before the roads get too dangerous.”

Zira sighed. “That would be safest, wouldn’t it?” With some reluctance, he got up from his seat on the sofa, heading for the door. Crowley followed.

At the door, Zira turned. “Crowley,” he said, hesitant. “I… I don’t want you to force things. If you can’t go back to normal right away… that’s alright. Please don’t force anything you don’t feel.”

“I won’t, Zira,” Crowley said, smiling slightly. “Promise.”

Zira studied them, then nodded. “Well, good-night,” he said.

“Good-night,” Crowley replied, and waved as Zira stepped out the door and bustled to his car.

Once Zira had pulled out of the drive, Crowley shut the door and returned to their couch, a weight lifted from their chest and a singing growing in their heart. They suddenly felt in a much more Christmassy spirit.

Smiling softly, they returned to their Christmas movie, snuggled in a blanket and utterly content in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're fixing things up! conflicts are being resolved! smiles are returning to faces!
> 
> the local radio station has been playing christmas music today so maybe i'm in a bit of a christmassy mood today. anyway what better way to end part one with the promise of a happy holiday?
> 
> anyway please please PLEASE leave a comment if you liked this chapter, and don't forget to leave me a kudos! we have a long way to go before our love confessions come out, but i can promise that something starts blossoming in zira's heart next chapter, so there's something to look forward to!
> 
> i love all of you. please take care of yourselves, stay safe, stay inside, wash your hands, and maybe binge read some of my other fics in this trying time!


	17. Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations are had. Holidays are celebrated. Zira has a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a month again. Sorry about that! I had to finish out my spring semester before I could even think about updating this fic. Also this pandemic has been driving me INSANE but you're not here to hear about my problems or about various global crises, you're here to read about two idiots falling in love in a universe where said global crises do not exist! 
> 
> Anyway I was feeling super sappy and this chapter turned out WAY DIFFERENT than I had originally planned/outlined but these two gay disasters decided to have a heartfelt conversation on New Year's Eve so here's 4k of them being horribly affectionate without realizing that they're in love. No content warnings for this chapter, it's all just gross lovey dovey sappy stuff. Enjoy!

_ Hi AJ, happy Friday! how are you holding up? _

**You'll never believe what happened last night Ana**

_ Spill!!!!!!!!!!! _

**Zira came.**

**To my house.**

_ Did you slam the door in his face? _

**I did.**

_ :) _

**And then I opened it again.**

_ >:( _

**He looked so forlorn, Ana!**

**But he apologized.**

**Profeu**

**Profiu**

**Quite a bit.**

_ And? _

**I invited him in. He was standing out in the rain, not even a fucking coat on him!**

**I had to forgive him Ana.**

**I love him.**

_ … _

_ I'm proud of you AJ. _

_ Proud of Zira too. He was a jackass but he got his shit together _

**Yeah. I know now he didn't mean it.**

**It's gonna take me a while before I stop hearing those words in his voice though.**

_ I know. It's okay to still hurt. Forgiving doesn't mean forgetting. _

**Thanks Ana.**

* * *

"Hello, Zira Fell speaking."

"Zira, luv! Anathema just told me what you did, the dear girl. I'm so very proud of you!"

"Tracy? What did Anathema say? Where did she hear it?"

"She told me everything! All about your dramatic and forlorn apology in the rain, and how you earned dear Anthony's forgiveness, and you two are friends once again! Oh, it's simply the best Christmas gift," she gushed.

"I — yes, it's true, that happened," Zira said, flustered and bewildered, "but where on Earth did she find out?"

"She said Anthony told her just this morning. Said they were utterly delighted to have you back in their life. And I thought, isn't that the most darling thing! So I thought I'd call you up and talk to you about it immediately. Oh, Zira, dear, I'm so glad you were able to get it in before Christmas. I told you you should, just the other day, didn't I?"

She had, was the thing. Zira had called her in a right indecisive panic about five days prior, filled with anxiety and doubt. She had encouraged him to think quite a lot about what to say and how to say it, and urged him to "get on with it as soon as possible, before the holiday if you can, so you both can have a happy Christmas!" 

And she hadn't been wrong, Zira had to admit. The woman did claim to be a psychic. Perhaps it was partially true.

Zira sighed. "Yes, you did, I suppose. Pardon me, did you use the words 'dramatic and forlorn' to describe my attempt?"

"Well, those were the words Ana used," Tracy said innocently. But Zira knew better — Tracy was anything but innocent.

He sighed again. "I don't suppose there's any way for me to convince you otherwise and regain my dignity?"

Tracy cackled. "Oh! He thinks he still has dignity!"

If there had been a camera filming at that moment, Zira would have stared, dead-eyed, into the lens as if he were on a popular comedic American television programme.

* * *

It was two days after Zira had begged for forgiveness. December 21st: the winter solstice. The longest night of the year.

Currently, however, it was not yet night. It was around four in the afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky, but had not yet begun to truly set. Crowley stared at their mobile, clutched in their hand, open to their messaging app. A message to Zira sat, fully typed, waiting to be sent. Nothing fancy, nothing special, not really. Just a simple, “Hey, Zira, how are you? Any plans for the holiday?”

It sat there, unsent, and Crowley stared at it. The cursor blinked at them mockingly.

Crowley inhaled a deep breath through their nose and tapped the send button, then slammed the device face-down on their coffee table and jumped up, running from the room. They nearly tripped over Lucifer in their haste, and he yowled theatrically at them, skittering in the opposite direction. “Sorry,” Crowley yelped.

They shut themself in the bathroom, pressing their back up against the door as if their mobile was about to grow legs and come to knock it down. Why were they panicking? Why was sending him a text so scary all of a sudden? Why did they hesitate to reach out to him? What was there to lose?

They took a few deep breaths, calming themself. It was fine. Zira was going to be _ happy _ to hear from them. Nothing bad was going to happen.

They emerged from the bathroom just as their phone vibrated, and they took another deep breath before returning to the sitting room and picking up the device. Sure enough, it was a message from Zira — three, in fact — and a jolt of nerves shot through their body as they opened the app.

_ Crowley! It's lovely to hear from you! _

_ I am well, although my flat got a bit drafty last night and it has only just warmed up fully. _

_ No plans as of yet. I might attend midnight mass. I miss singing hymns with people. _

Crowley sighed. Just normal conversation. Business as usual. Just like nothing happened, except it did, and they both knew it, and it hung over them like a cloud, and —

Deep breaths, Crowley.

**It's been a very long time since I've been to a midnight mass.**

**Sorry about your flat, glad you're warm again.**

Fuck, this was awkward. Crowley wanted to merge with their sofa and become one with the upholstery.

_ Oh, the draft wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t freezing or anything. You needn’t worry. _

_ Do you have any plans for your holiday? _

**Got some family coming. Just a few people.**

**My sister, a couple cousins, you know. One of the cousins just had a baby so I’m not expecting her to show up**

**I’m mostly looking forward to seeing the kids. I miss my nieces and nephews**

_ Got a soft spot for children, hm? _

**Not a soft spot! I just don’t get to see them all that much.**

_ Sure. I certainly haven’t heard that story around St Beryl’s of the art history professor taking a tired student’s baby from her when it started crying. And if I had it certainly couldn’t have been you. _

**You caught me. So maybe I like kids. It’s only so I can be a bad influence on them, turn them into right hellions**

_ I’ll be nice and pretend to believe you. _

**Doesn’t have the same effect if you tell me you’re pretending.**

_ Well, that would be dishonest! _

**What happened to “being dishonest now”?**

_ Oh hush, you serpent. _

**Breaking out the biblical references now, are we?**

_ I have no idea what you mean. _

Crowley discovered, rather suddenly, that they were _ grinning _ at their mobile. When was the last time they’d smiled like this?

**Apparently I’m the Serpent of Eden now. Interesting.**

**Have I tempted you, Zira?**

Oh, shit. Was that too flirtatious?

Well, no taking it back now.

_ Perhaps you have. Wiley thing. Coerced me into a friendship I couldn’t get out of if I tried. _

The “and I did try, and it didn’t work, and I had to come back to you” goes unspoken. Neither is brave enough to voice it.

**You’re well and stuck with me now.**

_ I’m not entirely sure that’s a bad thing, my dear. _

_ When is your family arriving? _

**Everyone should be here by Tuesday morning, but most are saying they’ll be here Monday afternoon.**

_ How exciting! I’m sure you’re looking forward to it very much. _

**As much as anyone can look forward to seeing their irritating little sister, I suppose.**

_ Is she really that bad? _

**No. But you know how little siblings are.**

_ I don’t really. I was the little sibling. _

Crowley recognized that they were straying dangerously close to a topic that was incredibly sensitive for Zira. They needed to change the topic, and quickly.

**I’m glad for a break from grading and nosy students. For some reason my students feel the need to get all up in my business.**

_ Yes, I’ve found that as well. There’s a particularly troublesome group who frequently corners me after class and forces me into having a conversation! _

**Oh no, what a nightmare, having a conversation!**

_ They ask very personal questions, Crowley! _

**Yeah yeah, my students like to do that too. It’s the curse of being an interesting person, I’m afraid.**

_ You think I’m an interesting person? _

**More interesting than Gabriel Heavens, that’s for certain.**

_ You do have a point. _

_ I suppose I should be glad my students find me approachable. _

**You’re not glad of anything that takes you away from whatever dusty tome you’d rather have your nose in.**

_ Guilty, I’m afraid. But my books are not dusty! I take very good care of them. _

**Yeah, yeah, I know. Practically your kids, those things.**

_ They are not! _

**They ARE.**

_ … _

_ Yes, I suppose they are. _

**Still got you pegged, Zira.**

_ You certainly have. _

* * *

December 23rd, Zira opened his messaging app to find a photo from Crowley. It was a picture of Crowley, obviously taken by themself, and they were weighed down by a small girl hanging off of their arm. Both of them were smiling widely at the camera.

**Look who’s here, Zira!**

_ Oh, how delightful! What an adorable little child! _

**This one’s Katie. Her brother Hunter’s around here somewhere, he took off for my backyard as soon as he got out of the car.**

_ Whose children are they? _

**My cousin Renee and her husband Mickey.**

_ How delightful! Is your sister there already? _

**Yeah, she and her husband are here. They have three kids. Don’t know how they cope.**

_ I’m certain they’re wonderful parents. _

**I guess.**

Another photo came through, this time of Crowley and a woman with dark hair. She and Crowley shared the same crooked smile and honey-brown eyes. Aziraphale smiled.

_ How wonderful! Do tell your family I say hello. _

**Will do, Zira.**

He wished they’d call him angel again. He liked that nickname.

Oh, well. He supposed it was his own fault. At least they didn’t hate him. (Probably. He was mostly sure of that.) There wasn’t much else he could hope for at this point, really. Crowley had decided to forgive him, to welcome him back into their life, and call him their friend again. What more could he ask for?

A lot of things. A whole lot of things. He could ask for lunch outings. Invitations to tea. Late-night rounds of drinking and talking about pretentious authors, mythology, and the fine arts. He could ask for fleeting grins, soft looks from behind sunglasses, fingers brushing against his. He could ask for jokes and laughter, for fun and teasing, for the way their smile gleamed in the sunlight and shone all the brighter when it was directed his way.

What had come over him? Zira felt like he was in a fever. And these pictures Crowley kept sending of them with children were really not helping. They kept sending them throughout the day, photos of kids climbing all over them, snuggled on their lap, staring in awe as Crowley’s snake crawled all over their tiny arms and hands, or laughing at a silly face they made. It was hopelessly endearing.

All it really did, though, was emphasize the fact that Zira was lonely.

Christmas with his family had always been a mixed experience — on the one hand, as a child he had loved receiving presents and giving gifts to his family. He loved when relatives would visit, grandparents and cousins he rarely saw getting together to share the holiday together. On the other hand, as he got older, the holiday had gotten less exciting, his relatives more chilly and less interesting, especially after he came out. He had never really enjoyed a good portion of the religious lessons that went along with Christmas — as a child he found them boring, as an adult he found them repetitive and vapid.

And yet, he missed the opportunity to reconnect with people he rarely saw or spoke to. He missed being able to play with children, share meals with the people he grew up with, listen in on the latest family gossip. Christmases these days had been lonely, spent alone in his flat full of books. He was usually able to distract himself with some research or other, a translation of an ancient scroll or the origins behind an obscure religious practice. But this year, Crowley was reminding him of everything he was missing. Laughter, and company, and joy.

Zira sighed again. He would make it through another Christmas by himself. Maybe a year from now, he and Crowley would be able to spend the holiday together without the weight of what he had done hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles. Sharp, dangerous, and ready to drop.

But for now, Zira contented himself by looking at each new photograph that came in, and by wishing that Crowley had a truly delightful holiday with their own family. After all, Crowley’s smile was a rare and wonderful thing, and Zira was glad for anything that could bring it out. Of course children would do the trick.

His mobile chimed, and another picture came through. This one showed Crowley, looking utterly awed and delighted, cradling a small baby against their chest. They had captioned the picture,** My cousin showed up for a surprise visit! This is Victoria, she’s a month old tomorrow**

_ Oh, how utterly precious. _

Zira may have been tearing up a little at this point. It wasn’t his fault infants were so adorable! Nor was it his fault that seeing Crowley clutching a baby like it was a priceless treasure was so endearing and heartwarming. They looked so much younger in that picture — the lines in their face had been smoothed, their smile lighting up their expression with a timeless glow. Oh, if only Zira could have seen that look in person.

On second thought, Zira decided, he was glad he wasn’t there in person to see such a thing. He was certain that if he _ had _ been there, he would have done something utterly inappropriate, like — like —

Funny, why was it that the first thing that came to mind was _ kissing _ Crowley?

Zira’s heart lurched.

“Oh, dear,” he said, the words ringing damningly into the silence of his flat. “Oh, dear.”

* * *

Over the next week, between Christmas and the New Year, Crowley and Zira spoke frequently over text — especially after Crowley’s family left two days after Christmas and they were alone in their house once again. They talked about nothing, about the lesson plans they were both finally beginning to think about for the next term, about mythology and classical artwork and Baroque composers and which Austen book was the best (Crowley thought Emma was her best work, while Zira most enjoyed Sense and Sensibility). Crowley talked about the James Bond movies they were marathoning, and Zira brought up the fact that he’d finally gotten a Netflix subscription and was very much enjoying watching the Great British Baking Show, at which point Crowley launched into a long list of programmes that Zira should watch, which Zira promptly forgot.

At eleven in the evening on New Year’s Eve, Crowley surprised Zira by initiating a video call. He answered it to find Crowley well into a bottle of wine — their cheeks were flushed, and they spoke louder than normal. “‘Lo, Zira,” Crowley grinned, the expression lighting up their face.

“Hello Crowley,” Zira replied, “it’s quite wonderful to see you again. In a manner of speaking.”

“Yeh,” Crowley said, their eyes flicking away from the camera for a moment, “good to see you too. How’s your New Year’s Eve? Got anyone over?”

“No,” Zira said, and shook his head. “I was just enjoying a reread of a delightful series of novels all set in a fantastical world. It’s shaped like a disc, and it sits on the backs of four gigantic elephants who stand on the back of a giant cosmic sea turtle.”

Crowley looked perplexed. “Uh?”

“I do partake in more modern fiction occasionally,” Zira said defensively. “It’s a wonderful series, the Discworld, written by a marvelous man — Sir Terry Pratchett. I have a few of my books signed by him, the dear fellow. I do believe you would enjoy this series.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Right,” they said. “I’ll… I’ll remember that.” They rolled their eyes, and Zira watched them take a drink from a wine glass.

“Not that I’m at all upset by this turn of events,” Zira said, “but why _ are _you calling me?”

Crowley made a few noncommittal noises. “W — gh — well,” they said, “‘S New Year’s Eve. S’posed to be, errr, celebrating. Can’t very well celebrate without friends.” 

Zira was inclined to agree.

They took another drink from their glass of wine. “Got any resolutions, Zira?”

“What? Oh,” Zira said. “I haven’t… well, I haven’t exactly thought about it.”

“No, errm, stupid pointless promises to start on a hideous diet? No, ehh, goals for your scholarly career? No estranged family members you want to spontaneously call up? No wait, scratch that last one, your estranged family is entirely comprised of cockwads. Don’t do that.”

Zira snorted out a surprised laugh. “Crowley!”

“I’m not wrong, angel,” Crowley said with a lazy grin, and _ oh, _ that word, that nickname, that _ endearment _— Zira could have cried.

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “No, no I suppose you’re not,” he admitted. “And no, I don’t really have any resolutions or goals. I’ve never really done those before.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present!” Crowley declared, finishing off their glass of wine and immediately pouring themself another. “Wanna hear mine?”

“Why not?” Zira said. “I’m going to get myself a bottle of wine, but I’ll bring you with me. Go ahead, my dear.” He stood and headed for his wine cabinet.

Crowley’s grin grew wider. “Like it when you call me that,” they said, sounding utterly sincere. “Right. My resolutions are one, actually work on my research instead of telling the university that I’m working on my research while I’ve actually just been scrolling through the Louvre collections without writing a word. Two, initiate a department-wide prank war in the art college. The goal is to have it go on for at least three months. Three,” and here Crowley took a big gulp of their wine, “erm. Three. Actually, fucking, y’know. Like myself.”

Zira paused, Sauvignon Blanc in hand. “What?”

“Y’heard me.” Crowley glowered into their glass of wine. “Been going to see a therapist for going on two years now and I still… still don’t like me.”

There was a very long pause. “Before…. before,” Crowley said slowly, “you helped. A lot. Started to like myself a bit more the longer you hung around me.” Another beat. “You’re very important, Zira,” they eventually said, their voice soft and startlingly sober. “Very, very important to me.”

“Yes, well,” Zira said, taken aback and rather flustered, “you… you’re the same, to me. You know. I… I hope you know.”

The moment stretched on.

“Well?” Crowley asked eventually, and the tension was broken. “What’s your resolution, then? C’mon, I just bared my soul. You gotta give me something.”

Zira sighed and grabbed a wine glass from a cupboard before returning to his parlour and pouring himself a generous glass of wine. “I suppose I would like to… recover, from what my family did to me,” he said slowly, “so I shall endeavour to start seeing a therapist, myself.”

Crowley grinned. “That’s it, angel, good on ya. Anything else?”

“Well,” Zira said, and sipped delicately at his wine. “I would like to get back at Gabriel, somehow, for saying all those awful things about the both of us all the time. I’m not entirely sure how, yet. Perhaps you’d be willing to help me set up some sort of revenge at some point?”

Crowley gaped at him. “You — Zira, you do realize that is my _ dream, _ right? I would _ die _ to help you get revenge on Gabriel.”

“Nothing violent or otherwise harmful, of course,” Zira reminded them. “I would like to be… oh, what is the word people use? Trivial?”

_ “Petty, _ Zira,” Crowley almost gasped. “You want to get _ petty revenge _ on that cockwaffle.”

“Language, dear,” Zira chided gently, taking another sip of wine.

Crowley scoffed. “Since when have either of us cared about language?”

“Still,” Zira said, deceptively prim.

A beat, where both enjoyed the other’s company and drank their wine.

“‘S almost midnight, Zira,” Crowley said.

Zira glanced at the clock. Five minutes til.

“There will be a fireworks display set off shortly over London,” he remarked.

“Too bad I won’t be there to see it.”

“Nonsense. I shall take you to the window and we can watch together.”

Zira, taking that moment to pour another glass of wine for himself, missed the utterly smitten look Crowley cast at him. “Sounds great, angel.”

“Any time, Crowley. Perhaps next year, we shall watch them in the city together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, if you would be at all amenable.”

“Always amenable, that’s me,” Crowley said. “I’d like that a lot.”

“It’s a plan, then,” Zira smiled.

“Yeah.”

Zira smiled, indulgent and pleased, then almost dropped his wine with a start. “Oh! I nearly forgot about the champagne!”

“Shit! Me too!” Crowley exclaimed, and both of them scampered off in their haste to hunt down a glass of bubbly for the New Year.

When they returned, corks popped and glasses filled, there was barely more than a minute until midnight. “Now,” Crowley said, cradling his flute of champagne and grinning at Zira, “you told me a while ago you could sing. Care to do the honours?”

Zira rolled his eyes. “I’m quite out of practise, my dear. You wouldn’t like it.”

“C’mon, for tradition’s sake! I’ll sing along,” Crowley wheedled.

“Oh, alright,” Zira conceded, though not entirely unhappily. He opened his mouth and sang,

_ Should auld acquaintance be forgot, _

_ And never brought to mind? _

_ Should auld acquaintance be forgot, _

_ And auld lang syne? _

_ For auld lang syne, my jo, _

_ For auld lang syne, _

_ We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, _

_ For auld lang syne. _

_ And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp! _

_ And surely I'll be mine! _

_ And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, _

_ For auld lang syne. _

Crowley had stopped singing about halfway through and just sat listening to him sing. “Wow,” they said quietly when he had finished. “Too close to midnight to ask for an encore, isn’t it, angel?”

“Unfortunately,” Zira said, blushing pink. “Well… only ten seconds left. Nine…”

He and Crowley counted down together as Zira brought his champagne flute and his mobile to the tall window of his flat, and together they whooped and hollered and rang in the third decade of the 21st century with all the fanfare it deserved.

As they watched the fireworks show burst in a rainbow of sparks over the city, Zira made one final resolution: to treat Crowley as his closest and dearest companion for the rest of their days, or for as long as they would let him. He resolved to never let them nearly slip from his grasp ever again. They were far too important to him, he knew that now. He could never let them go again, not unless they asked him to. And if they did, well. He would do so readily, and allow them to go wherever they pleased. That’s what you did when you cared so deeply about someone, after all. 

“Happy New Year, Crowley,” Zira said softly.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, me again! Sorry again about the long wait, I hope this chapter made up for it! The romance is progressing a lot faster than I had planned but I stand by my statement that there will be no actual confessions or kisses until near the very end of the fic (sorry lovelies! I gotta stick by that slow burn tag!). 
> 
> Next chapter, Dr Bea L Zebub shows up as an actual character, Zira goes to therapy, there is a disgusting amount of flirting and pining, and I struggle to come up with new things for the ineffable partners to talk about at lunch. (Feel free to give me some random conversation topics in the comments because I still only have the bare bones for the next chapter and my brain is fried!)
> 
> Don't forget to feed and water your content creators, especially during this crisis when we have nothing better to do than create things for your entertainment. Make sure to leave kudos and comments, and please feel free to send me asks and art about my fic on my blog @morosexual-aziraphale! Love you all so much, stay safe!


	18. Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Zira return to campus, reunite with old friends, and are once again bothered by a few obnoxiously persistent students. We finally meet the dean in charge of Crowley. Crowley and Zira chat about childhood dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lovelies! it's been a month and a half since i've posted a chapter on here and i'm verrrry sorry about that ;-; i had a LOT of writer's block, and then this chapter just did NOT want to wrap itself up. so here i am, splitting chapter 18 in half and merging the second half with chapter 19, which should be out in a week if everything behaves itself.
> 
> last chapter i said that zira would be going to therapy this chapter, but i had to move that to chapter 19 so that this chapter didn't turn into a monster. that being said, there aren't any content warnings for this chapter, just lots of me throwing some characters and vague attempts at foreshadowing your direction for about 4500 words.
> 
> i hope you are all staying safe out there! please take care of yourselves!

The two professors, now more or less reconciled, continued their pattern of long text conversations throughout the rest of the winter holiday. They discussed lesson plans, art, music, theatre, musical theatre, cooking, cooking shows — little things, trivial things, things that excited them, things that they hated. (Zira learned that Crowley loved James Bond films, but hated most other action movies. Crowley learned that Zira had little patience for cooking shows, despite his affinity for the culinary arts.) 

They still avoided more personal, perhaps unstable topics (topics of childhood, of family, of romance, of trials, of struggles, of traumas), but really, it was the little things, those comparisons of interests, those mutual discussions of trivial topics, that truly brought them back together after The Incident. They had soon built their friendship back up, patched most of the cracks with mortar, and were more or less growing their way back towards that casual, intimate friendship they’d had before the Incident.

All in all, everything was going very well. Crowley had a feeling the spring term was going to be absolutely fantastic.

Crowley returned to campus a few days before the term was about to start, just to set up their office and get their lesson plans in order for the classes ahead. They were sauntering down the corridor to fetch something from their car when a familiar voice droned, “Good morning, Dr Crowley.”

“Dr Zebub,” Crowley replied, stopping and shooting zir some finger guns. “How was your holiday?”

“Tolerable,” Dr Zebub said dryly.

Both professors paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Good to see you, Bea,” Crowley grinned. “Glad to be back on campus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dr Zebub said. “Liszzten, don’t get too friendly with me, Tony. You never know if  _ Dr Heavenzzz _ might be listening.”

Crowley wrinkled their nose. “Eugh. That bastard? In the visual arts building? I think he’d rather walk through a landfill.”

“He wouldn’t want to szzztain his nice suitzz,” Dr Zebub said with a wry little smile.

“Oh, ohhh, you’re right,” Crowley grinned. “Best to keep him to the humanities building.”

“Keep ‘em confined.”

Crowley laughed. “Mmm, wouldn’t want to keep all the other social sciences students and staff locked up with that dickwad.”

“You’re right. Wouldn’t want your  _ boyfriend _ in the religion department to be trapped in there.” Ze gave Crowley a smug look.

“Oi! He’s not my boyfriend. We’re friends. Sort of. Barely.”

Dr Zebub raised an eyebrow.

“Look, we had a sort of… falling out. But it’s fixed now! He got his shit together.”

“Glad you two are back together again. How’zzz your reszzearch going?”

“Oh, you know how it is, it’s all fits and starts, a little here, a little there,” Crowley said, which meant that they still had barely done anything at all for their research paper.

“Great. Liszzten, you got your class schedule for the term, right? Good. I’ve got to go check in on about fifteen other professors yet today. You get yourszzelf settled back in again, get your szztuff ready for classez next week. I’m going to go, but I have a gallery exzhibition szcheduled for next month, zo we can catch up then, alright? Email me if you need anything, can’t promize I’ll get back to you.”

“Gotcha,” Crowley replied, and waved as they sauntered down the hallway away from the dean.

* * *

Later that day, Crowley was organizing their office (“organizing” here is used very liberally, and it was more like throwing various file folders into various drawers) when there was a tap on the door. “What?” they said, slamming a drawer closed.

“There’s the cranky Dr Crowley I remember,” Anathema said, and Crowley whipped around, grinning. “How’re you, AJ?” she asked, smiling right back.

“Not bad, witch girl,” Crowley replied, coming around their desk to better speak to the woman who had become like a little sister to them. “Not bad at all. The cold’s getting to me a little, the wind is a little much, but, eh, what can you do? How about you, how’s the ol’ marriage? How’s witchcraft? Get any new tarot cards? A voodoo doll, maybe?” They leaned against their desk, cocky and confident, alight with barely contained excitement.

“Very funny, AJ. Newt’s good, though, yeah — actually,” she said, and she leaned in, her voice going quieter, “we’ve been talking about  _ kids. _ Nothing solid yet, but — AJ, she wants  _ kids. _ It’s so exciting!”

“No way,” Crowley said, “you? With  _ kids? _ Unheard of. Can’t picture it. Can you imagine Junior getting their hands on your Ouija board? Pandemonium. Can’t be allowed.”

Anathema rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, though, Ana —” Crowley dropped the act. “You two would make great mums. I’m happy for you.”

Anathema grinned. “I know! Can you imagine? You’d be Untie Crowley, naturally, there’s no way our kids would grow up without you. Oh, oh, I shouldn’t get too excited, we haven’t decided yet.” Anathema was practically  _ buzzing, _ beaming excitedly, unable to stand still. “Well — you’ve got stuff to do, I’ve got stuff to do — good luck teaching!” she said, waving frantically. “And — good luck with Zira. Take care of yourself, AJ.”

“Yeah, yeah, see you Ana.” Crowley watched as Anathema left, feeling warm and content and happy. Things were good. And maybe, they thought, as they turned back to their work, they would stay that way.

They were just finishing up their “tidying” and “organizing” when there was another tap on their door. “Coo-ee, Anthony!”

Well, it certainly seemed to be the day for seeing friends. (Maybe they’d get to see Zira today!) Crowley turned once more to see Tracy, cupping a steaming mug of tea, wrapped in a garishly bright crocheted shawl, smiling at them and wiggling her fingers in greetings. “I thought you’d be here today. Tidying up your office before classes start?”

“Yyyep,” they replied, shutting a drawer to conceal the mess of papers stuffed inside. “And I promise you, it’ll be a mess again by the end of the week. Can never keep anything organized if it’s got too many papers.”

Tracy beamed fondly. “Any amount of papers is too many for you. Want me to make you a cuppa? It’s cold today.”

“It’s cold every day in January,” Crowley said, rolling their eyes. “You don’t need to make tea for me, especially if your knees are bothering you today. I don’t want you to make that trip there and back again.”

“Oh, nonsense, my body’s not going to give out on me yet,” Tracy said. “That’ll be the masala chai for you, then, right? Only I give tea to so many people that I forget which one you’ve moved on to.”

“Yeah, chai sounds great,” Crowley said, shrugging. “Thanks, Tracy.”

“Oh, it’s really no trouble, dear.” Tracy turned to leave, then whirled back. “Have you seen Zira around yet? I’m sure he’s probably moving back in here as well.”

“He’s in the social sciences building,” Crowley said, “so I haven’t seen him. I try to avoid the social sciences building. Or any building containing Gabriel and his minions.”

“They’re not  _ minions, _ Anthony,” Tracy chided. “Stop talking about Dr Heavens like he’s a comic book villain.”

“He  _ is _ one, though,” Crowley said. “If he had the braincells, he’d deliver me a monologue of his dastardly plans each time we ran across one another.”

Tracy sighed. “He can be rather dramatic,” she conceded. “Too bad you haven’t seen Zira, I’m sure you two miss each other dreadfully.” She gave Crowley a knowing wink.

Crowley made an offended spluttering noise best translated as “gnfhghnk.” They flailed their hands for a moment.  _ “Tracy!” _ they eventually exclaimed, flustered and outraged.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong,” Tracy said smugly, “I have a  _ sense _ for these things. You two have  _ chemistry, _ trust me.”

“I don’t bloody — no idea where you — we have no such — aaaagh!” Crowley kicked their desk, and only succeeded in hurting their toes. “Fuck!”

“Now, now,” Tracy chided mildly, “let’s not get worked up over trivial things. You two work well together, that’s all.” She smiled innocently. “Well, I’ll just go get that tea for you. Try putting labels on your drawers. Or installing shelves as storage instead of cabinets,” she added over her shoulder.

Huh. Crowley hadn’t thought of that solution before.

* * *

Starting classes up was much easier this time round — most of the first years had figured out how classes worked at this point, and could find their way through the buildings much more quickly. Crowley remained their intimidating self, their sunglasses glinting under the LED lights as they snapped at their students. Their students remained intimidated — at least, the new ones did. The students whom they’d had before, well — they weren’t quite so easily fooled. 

Most of their previous students had, at this point, seen Dr Crowley's softer side, whether they knew it or not. When they came round to speak quietly to a student struggling with an exam; when they leaned over their desk to speak with a student in their office hours in a friendly, companionable way; when they got off on a tangent, enthusing about some artwork or other which they had studied for their thesis; when, once, a student had wheedled out of them that they went to lunch nearly every day with another professor and their expression had done this funny little thing…

Dr Crowley refused to accept these things as evidence that they were, in fact, a big softie. So, the first day of classes, they once again put on their sharp, scary demeanor like a costume and strode around the front of the room in heeled boots that clicked when they walked, and only about a third of their students actually bought it — but most of them had the sense to not bring it up.

Most of them.

After class, Crowley was approached by two vaguely familiar students. (If they remembered correctly, these two talked a lot.) "You know you're not  _ actually _ scary, right?" asked Obnoxious Girl Who Looked Like An Accountant from last term, who was for some reason taking another art history class. Dr Crowley wasn’t interested enough to ask. (They knew, of course, that she was a history major. They just didn’t care.)

(They did.)

Crowley rolled their eyes. "Of course I'm scary," they said, "everyone's scared of me."

"I'm not," the girl said.

"Nor me," added Scary Spice, her rainbow-clad companion, who crossed her arms over her jumper-covered chest. (Wasn’t she a Gender Studies major? Why was  _ she _ in a B-level art history course?)

Crowley snarled, just a little. There wasn't much energy put into the snarl - just enough that the students would  _ think _ they were affected, but not overly affected. Aloof. "You two don't count," they sighed, "because you're both scary yourselves. Absolute hooligans, both of you."

"Ooh, hear that Wends? We're  _ hooligans!"  _ Scary Spice laughed to her bespectacled co-conspirator.

“Actually, according to Mr Tyler back home, we’ve been hooligans since we first learned to crawl,” Obnoxious Accountant “Wends” grinned back. She turned back to the professor, who looked both bored and miffed. “Actually, we don’t mind you calling us scary, ‘cause we’re both scarier than you, really.”

“Yeah,” Scary Spice nodded, her expression pure mischief. “And besides, Dr Fell certainly doesn’t think you’re scary.”

Crowley spluttered. Their face went very red.

Scary Spice pointed a finger at the blushing professor, eyes glinting with triumph. “Hah! I caught you! You two are dating, aren’t you?”

“We most certainly are  _ not,”  _ Dr Crowley snarled. “That’s the most ridiculous — don’t know where you’d even get the  _ idea  _ —”

“You two had lunch together  _ every day _ last term,” Scary Spice said accusingly. “Dr Fell talked about you multiple times in class.  _ And,  _ you two had a big fight at the end of last term. We  _ noticed, _ remember?”

Dr Crowley curled their lip. “Doesn’t mean we’re  _ dating, _ ” they said. “Don’t assume, you should  _ know _ that by now, the both of you.”

Wends and Scary Spice looked askance at each other. “Right,” Scary Spice said after a moment. “Sorry, Professor.”

“You should be,” Dr Crowley scoffed. “Now, don’t you two have classes to attend?”

“Actually —”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Scary Spice cut in, grabbing Wends’ arm pointedly, “we do. Least, I do. C’mon, Wendy.”

The two students exited the lecture hall, and Dr Crowley was left standing in the room, face still hot and mind whirling.

_ Were  _ they dating?

No. No, of course not. Zira certainly didn’t feel what Crowley felt. Besides, they were pretty sure if they  _ were _ dating it would have been communicated by now.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Being friends with Zira was perfectly fine. Wonderful, even. They loved every minute of it, now that they were reconciled.

Hm. Maybe they should message Zira and see if he’d like to start meeting for lunch again. Wandering back to their desk, they pulled out their mobile and sent Zira a text.

* * *

Zira was absolutely delighted that classes had started up again. There was nothing he loved more than watching students’ faces light up as they learned some interesting new tidbit of information, or as they finally comprehended something they had been struggling to understand. It was even more delightful to see a few familiar faces in his room, even if he hadn’t been expecting them. That lovely Brian lad had come back for another Religion course, the dear boy. Zira was glad that he had enjoyed his class so much last term. His friend Pepper was there too, such a darling girl, so spirited. They’d had a few truly lovely conversations in his office last term, and he’d loved every moment of them. He was excited to see more of the both of them in the future.

He introduced himself, discussing his past education, his interests, his hobby of collecting (hoarding) old books and restoring them, and his delight in food and the culinary arts, then went over the syllabus, glad that this term he’d actually managed to get the syllabi finished and printed before classes had started. He was finally starting to get used to this whole teaching business, it seemed.

Once class was dismissed, he popped behind his desk to organize his materials, and that’s when he noticed the notification on his mobile, which he had received just as his class was starting:  **Lunch at the cafe, angel?**

Zira beamed at the screen. Oh, how delightful! Crowley wanted to resume their lunch arrangement.

_ Most certainly, my dear, _ he replied eagerly.

“Dr Fell?” It was that delightful young lady, Pepper, and her friend.

“Yes, dear girl?”

Pepper rolled her eyes at the endearment but decided not to comment. “What’re you smiling like that for?” she asked instead.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Zira said, waving it off. “Just got some good news, is all. Run along, now, I have someplace to be.”

“Are you having lunch with Dr Crowley?” Brian asked from his spot beside Pepper. “Only, we see you two getting lunch together a lot, and Pepper already talked to Dr Crowley, and —” Pepper elbowed Brian.

“Well,” Dr Fell blustered, “I suppose, that is, we did do that quite frequently last term, and it _has_ been a while since we’ve seen each other in person, so I’ll admit that I am, I daresay, a _little_ excited about seeing Dr Crowley, and —” He cut himself off quite suddenly, embarrassed to find himself gushing about Crowley. “Oh, really, listen to me rambling on. Run along now, both of you, find the rest of your friends. I really do have somewhere to be.”

The students squinted suspiciously but, thankfully, exited the lecture hall without a fuss. His next class was in an hour and a half, but he figured that should be enough time to have a quick lunch with Crowley and catch up. He glanced down at his mobile to see Crowley’s reply of,  **Is now alright? I don’t have another class for two hours ** and he smiled again. It wasn’t uncommon; every time he and Crowley shared a conversation he ended up beaming like a lunatic within minutes. Besides, wasn’t he allowed to be excited to have overlapping free time with Crowley? They were his very best friend, after all.

Yes, he was certainly allowed some measure of excitement over being able to see his closest friend in person after such a long and tumultuous holiday apart. It, of course, had nothing to do with whatever he had  _ felt  _ when he’d seen that image of Crowley holding an infant. Everyone felt like that about their best friend at one point or another, right? A warm rush of affection, a sudden desire to gather them up in one’s arms and kiss them soundly, the urge to hold them tight and never let them go — the love between best friends was something that ran quite deep, Zira understood. These feelings were most likely quite common between best friends. (He wouldn't know, of course, as he'd never  _ had  _ a best friend before.)

He was ever so delighted that he and Crowley had reconciled. He wasn’t sure if Crowley considered him their best friend, but that was alright. Considering how he had hurt them, he supposed that it was far from the worst consequence he could suffer. At least they were friendly with him once again. For that, he was more than grateful.

Oh! Zira gave a happy little wiggle as he exited the social sciences building. He was buzzing with energy, overflowing with joy. He was going to see Crowley!

It took every scrap of dignity remaining in his being to not  _ skip _ to the cafe. As it was, he had a jaunty little spring in his step, and he was quite close to  _ whistling, _ of all things, until he stepped into the cosy building and saw Crowley.

His heart skipped probably three whole beats. It had been  _ so long, _ really, so he couldn’t quite help the way he froze and let out a small gasp. “Crowley,” he said softly, delightedly, wonderingly.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley said, and his heart fluttered  _ again. _ Oh, it was so  _ lovely _ hearing that word from Crowley’s mouth. They waved at him from a table, where they were already nursing a cup of tea. “Come on, lunch is on me today.”

“Oh,” Zira said, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses, his cheeks appling. “Oh, Crowley, how kind.” He took a seat beside his friend.

“Nnngh,” Crowley said, waving him off. “Not kind. Just decent, I guess.” They looked deeply uncomfortable for a moment. “So — how have classes been?”

And just like that, they launched into another casual conversation, as if nothing had ever happened between them, as if they hadn’t spent two months apart, as if everything were perfect and lovely and wonderful. And perhaps it was, Zira thought, beaming helplessly as Crowley launched into another story. Perhaps it was.

* * *

“Now,” Dr Fell said, clasping his hands, his voice echoing oddly in the lecture hall, “let’s see which of you have done the reading. How does the Buddhist concept of  _ anatman _ connect to the rest of Buddhist culture?”

Only two hands went up.

Dr Fell frowned.

“Now, surely more than two of you read the article I had assigned,” he said, sounding quite disappointed. “I know you are all clever enough.”

A sheepish mumble echoed around the room. Dr Fell’s “disappointed voice” had been heard many times last semester and was now feared by anyone taking his classes. “Anyone?” the little professor said, peering over his spectacles. His round face and bright eyes suddenly seemed quite terrifying to everyone in the room.

A few more hands found their ways into the air.

Instantly, Dr Fell’s face softened into a bright smile. “See? I knew you had it in you. Go on, shout things out, don’t wait for me to pick you.”

The rest of the class went rather smoothly — three days into the semester, the students were just starting to relax and get comfortable in their new classes. Dr Fell couldn’t fault them for that, but he was also still adjusting to the university environment and if he could do it, then he was absolutely confident that his students could, too. He  _ certainly _ wasn’t going to  _ coddle _ them simply because they were new.

After he dismissed the class, he was just gathering his belongings to transfer to another classroom when he heard a soft, “Erm… Dr Fell?”

He turned around. A very short student stood before him, their face bright red, looking quite nervous and rather like they would prefer to turn and run than have this conversation. “Your syllabus says we can’t use computers to take notes in class,” they said, looking terrified as they stammered over their words, “but… I have ADHD and taking notes on a computer makes things a lot easier when I’m studying later and also I can never keep up when handwriting notes and I always get distracted and —”

“My dear,” Zira said gently, and the student’s rambling cut off quite abruptly. Their face was, somehow, even redder than before. “Thank you for telling me. Of course you can use a computer in my class if it helps you learn better,” he soothed. “I’ll amend it on the syllabus in case there are other students like you.” He paused. “My dearest friend has… ADHD, as well,” he added. “I’m sure university would have been much easier for them if they were able to take notes digitally.”

The student nodded frantically. “Thank you Dr Fell,” they squeaked, and then they escaped from the lecture hall.

Dr Fell watched them leave with a bemused little smile. How funny, that a student could remind him so thoroughly of Crowley. That  _ everything _ could remind him so thoroughly of Crowley.

Dr Fell found himself daydreaming about Crowley. “Oh, dear,” he fussed, snatching up his belongings, “I’m going to be late to lunch.”

He arrived ten minutes late to see Crowley sit up from a lazy slouch at the table, their whole face seeming to light up as they saw him. “Angel!” they said.

“Oh, I’m  _ dreadfully _ sorry I’m late, my dear,” Zira blustered, taking a seat across from his friend, “only, some of my students had questions after class, and I couldn’t just let them go unanswered.”

“Don’t worry about it, angel,” Crowley said, waving it off effortlessly. “Doesn’t matter.”

Zira tried to apologize again, but was cut off before even beginning with a look from Crowley. “I’ve just about had it with you apologizing,” Crowley said, and their tone was casual, but there was something harder to read in their expression, in the tightness of their shoulders. “You don’t need to apologize to me anymore.”

“But—”

“Please, angel,” Crowley said. “It’s alright. I swear.”

Zira bit his lip but nodded. Crowley was far kinder to him than he deserved, sometimes.

“Say,” Zira said once they had ordered their lunch and two cups of hot green tea, “you don’t happen to have a student named Pepper in your class this semester, do you? Only, she mentioned the other day that she spoke to you, and it seemed as though she already knew you, and it’s really been bothering me ever since.”

“Pepper!” Crowley exclaimed triumphantly. “That’s Spice Girl’s name!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, I know her,” Crowley said, before adding under their breath, “meddling little shit.”

“I’m sorry — were you just calling her  _ Spice Girl _ this entire time?”

Crowley shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t remember her name, but I remembered it was a spice.”

“ _ Honestly, _ Crowley,” Zira tutted. “Do you ever learn any of your students’ names?”

They shrugged again. “Not really,” they admitted. “Too much to remember. It’ll push out other more important information.”

Zira decided that was fair enough and opted to move on. “What did she want to speak with you about?” he asked carefully, remembering his conversation with Pepper and her friend.

Crowley froze. “Ngk,” they said. “Erm. Uh. Just class stuff,” they tried.

“Hmm. Because when she and her friend Brian spoke to me, they were asking me if we were going to lunch together.”

“Nngh. ‘S odd,” Crowley said in a rather strangled voice, and they downed a huge gulp of tea. “Don’t remember her asking me about that at all.”

“Odd indeed.” What a suspicious conversation. Zira decided he would start looking into this further. Those students could turn out to be a valuable asset in parsing out the mystery that was Crowley.

“You know,” Zira said, changing the topic, “Brian is undeclared, still, but I feel as though I’ve interested him in my religious studies courses. Perhaps I’ll make him into a Religion major.” He grinned. “How delightful would that be? I would love to mentor him, he’s such an enjoyable student.”

“Nnngh. What would he even  _ do _ with a religion major? Turn into another one of you, I’d expect. Holed up in a musty building reading ancient books with all the pages falling out.”

“Well, perhaps I find such experiences stimulating,” Zira argued, “and he might as well. Books can be excellent companions if you meet the right ones.”

“You’re talking about books as if you’re married to them,” Crowley laughed. “Did you always want to do this? Like, as a kid, did you daydream about poring over mouldy old tomes in a dimly lit flat in Soho, trying to find God?”

“I don’t need to find God, I know exactly where She is,” Zira declared. “And no, I didn’t. When I was a child, I was going to be a priest. My father was so proud of me…” He trailed off. The spark in his eyes he got when he was thinking about books faded. “I dreamed about speaking in front of crowds of millions, drawing them to God. Teaching them to love.”

He sighed. “I suppose this way is better, though. Through my teaching, my students can learn all of the ways people perceive deities and practice religion, and find their own paths from there. It’s all very enlightening.”

With an invigorating sip of tea, Zira continued, “What about you? Did you daydream about being a jack-of-all-trades teaching art history in a small, religiously-oriented university on the outskirts of London when you were young?”

Crowley shrugged. “I dunno. I daydreamed about a lot of things as a kid. I daydreamed a  _ lot. _ ” They considered for a moment. “I was going to be a knight, before I remembered that they didn’t really exist in the same way anymore. Then I was going to be a world-famous painter. Then, the next top fashion designer. But I never really put a lot of effort into anything I was learning, and none of my dreams ever really stuck. I’m happy with where I am now, though.”

“Well,” Zira said. “That’s alright, then.” There was a pause, wherein the two professors sipped at their tea and considered each other and themselves. “For the record,” Zira added, smiling at them over the brim of his cup, “I’m happy with where I am now, too.”

“I’m glad, angel,” Crowley said, and they gave him a genuine smile in return. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HERE](https://www.instagram.com/p/CBgj0BpFVhf/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet) is a BEAUTIFUL drawing i commissioned from [lowez_](https://www.instagram.com/lowez_/) on instagram of crowley in their studio! i am absolutely ENAMORED with this piece. i can't stop looking at it. everyone stop what you're doing and go look at it.
> 
> ANYWAY i hope u liked this chapter!!! next chapter zira and crowley go to dinner and zira goes to therapy! remember u can find me @morosexual-aziraphale on tumblr if u wanna chat about this fic or good omens in general!
> 
> what did u want to be when u grew up? tell me in the comments! i wanted to be a firefighter! (and then a paleontologist. and then a marine biologist. and then an archaeologist. and then a famous musician...) and don't forget to drop a kudos too if you haven't already!


	19. No Bed of Roses (No Pleasure Cruise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes Zira to dinner, then drives him home. Zira takes an important step forward. The Them are back at it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to wait til thursday to post this but i have no impulse control so here's some more filler for you! this is mostly just fluff and fun not gonna lie, with just a bit of sadness in zira's therapy appointment to break it up. no content warnings for this chapter, just enjoy it!

Friday morning, Zira received a text from Crowley.  **Morning, angel. I have an idea: me, you, an Italian restaurant, tonight?**

A follow-up text added,  **Your pick, naturally. You know your way around the culinary world here much better than me.**

Zira almost leapt into the air and cheered with his excitement. Dinner. With Crowley! Tonight!

_ Of course, my dear, did you even need to ask? I know just the place. I’ll send you the directions. _

Zira knew that he was energetic and spontaneous in his lectures the whole day, but he really couldn’t have cared less. He and Crowley were going to dinner together, just like when they first met! He could barely contain himself.

His students most certainly noticed his elation, but they were wise enough to just let him be — after all, it didn’t take long for Dr Fell to strike the fear of God into the hearts of his students, no matter how soft he looked. Underneath his plush exterior was a skeleton of steel, and everyone was quick to learn it.

After classes, Zira freshened himself up for a lovely dinner out and caught a taxi to the restaurant, where Crowley was already waiting outside their car. “Hi, angel,” they said with a nonchalant grin, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, you snake,” Zira teased back, and they entered the establishment together.

They ordered, again on Zira’s recommendations, because Crowley recognized that Zira was  _ very _ good at parsing out what sort of dishes Crowley would enjoy. They chatted about this thing and that, and often stole lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking. There was a sort of…  _ aura, _ for lack of a better word, around the entire table. (Anathema would have killed to see it.)

Their food arrived while they were sharing a lovely red wine, and Zira thanked the waiter pleasantly. “Oh, this looks  _ splendid,” _ he exclaimed, beaming. “Don’t you think so, my dear?”

Crowley didn’t say anything, and if Zira had been paying attention he would have noticed how intently they watched his face, how they studied his delighted expression. If they hadn’t been wearing their glasses he would have seen how their gaze flickered and settled on his plump, perfectly manicured hands as he picked up his silverware, how they gazed at his mouth as he took his first bite. If Zira had at all been looking at Crowley’s face he would have seen the colour creeping up their cheeks as he let out a positively sinful noise at the taste.

But Zira was much too focused on his dinner at the moment to notice that Crowley was completely ignoring their own food in favor of directing all their attention towards him.

Eventually, though, Zira opened his eyes to look at Crowley and remark once more about just how  _ delicious  _ everything was, and noticed that Crowley hadn’t even touched their own dinner. “Why, Crowley, you’re not eating! Do you not like it?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, and shoveled some pasta and sausage into their mouth to try and hide their embarrassment. Zira’s eating habits were practically  _ indecent. _ They never wanted to stop watching.

The evening went on, and a few glasses of wine were shared. Zira finished off the meal with a decadent tiramisu, and Crowley got the privilege of watching him savor every bite. They split the bill this time, at Zira’s insistence — Crowley would have covered the whole thing if Zira hadn’t given him a Look with a capital L.

“Drop you back home first?” Crowley offered as they finally left the restaurant. “Easier and cheaper than taking a taxi or the tube.”

“Oh, oh, I couldn’t,” Zira said feebly, twisting his hands in front of him. “I don’t want you to go too out of your way…”

“‘S not too out of my way,” Crowley said, “c’mon, angel. I promise it’s no trouble.”

Zira looked around, then back at Crowley. “Well…” he said, seeming to need to think very hard about this. “Well, I suppose if it’s no trouble…”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” They grinned, satisfied. “Get in, angel. Let’s get you home.”

Zira slid into the passenger side. “This is a very nice car,” he said, “very… sleek.”

Crowley started the engine. “Thanks,” they said, and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Oh! Oh, Crowley,  _ do  _ slow down,” Zira shrieked. “You’re going over the limit!”

“Psh, not that far over the limit, and besides, there’s not even that many cars around.”

There was actually a fair amount of cars about, being a Friday night just past dinnertime in the middle of London. Zira told them as much, with a fair amount of squeaking and exclaiming, interspersed with muttered prayers. Crowley just cackled and drove on.

When they reached Zira’s flat, he stepped out flustered and wild around the eyes. “That was… that was  _ bloody terrifying,  _ Crowley!” he shrieked, staggering as he tried to keep his legs under control. “Remind me to never get a lift from you again.”

Crowley rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, angel. You’re so dramatic. Go on, get inside. I’ll see you Monday?”

Zira looked like he wanted to remain upset, but instead he just nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’ll see you Monday,” he said, and entered his flat, Crowley speeding off into the night as soon as the door shut behind him.

* * *

It was just past noon that Saturday. Zira had just finished filling out and signing a handful of documents and waivers, which he turned in to the front desk in the waiting room of the psychiatric office. As he returned to his seat, a man with greying hair and a full beard stepped out from down the hall and called his name.

“Andrew Fell?”

Zira winced. He really should get his name legally changed.

He stood and followed the man down the hallway. “Erm, it’s Zira,” Zira said as he entered the room he was directed to.

“Terribly sorry,” the man replied immediately. “Zira Fell. It’s so nice to meet you. You may take a seat.” He gestured to a few tasteful cushioned armchairs scattered about.

Zira took a seat, rather nervously. He’d never done  _ anything _ like this before. He found himself quite out of his depth. (This was a feeling Zira Fell rarely experienced, and that was the cause of his anxiety at the moment.)

“I’m Dr Davis. I’m hoping we’re going to have a lot of very productive conversation here. Remember that you’re not obligated to say anything, but I will be asking you some personal questions based off of what you tell me.” Dr Davis took a seat across from Zira, holding a clipboard and a ballpoint pen. He peered at Zira through silver wire-framed glasses. He looked every inch the stereotypical psychotherapist. “Would you like to tell me a little about yourself?”

Zira took a breath. Then he took another. “Well,” he said, “I’m forty-nine. I grew up in Chiswick, I collect and refurbish antiquarian books as a hobby, and I’m a professor of theological studies at St Beryl’s University. I… I’m not sure where I stand with organized religion, but I do believe in the existence of God.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “My friend told me I should do this, after I made a horrible mistake and… well, and nearly ruined everything between us.” He sighed. “I must admit, I’m rather nervous.”

“Thank you for telling me, Zira,” Dr Davis said, smiling pleasantly, and jotted some things down on the clipboard. “The fact that you recognize that you made a mistake and are willing to work on yourself in order to maintain a friendship speaks volumes about your character. I think you’re going to do very well.”

“Really? Oh… oh, good. It’s really been bothering me, rather a lot.”

“Do you have any idea why it’s been bothering you?”

Zira pursed his lips. “Well… I find myself a rather anxious person, when it comes to acknowledging my own feelings and… and dealing with them. I find it much easier to lock difficult feelings up in a box and put them away somewhere where I won’t have to feel them or think about them. But I don’t think you’ll let me get away with that here, and… and I’m rather afraid of what’s going to come out if I open that box.”

“That’s a very common thing here,” Dr Davis said gently. “Therapists, like myself, specialize in helping people open those boxes they’ve put away and deal with the contents. I won’t sugarcoat, Zira, it’s not going to be a walk in the park for you — but you will feel better when the box is opened and you’ve assessed its contents.

“You also should understand that I’m not here to fix all of your problems — I’m here to guide you through understanding and coping with your issues. It’s important for you to be able to assess your own feelings and situations, and that’s what I’m here to help you with.” He smiled gently. “I know how scary being vulnerable can be, but I think you’ll do just fine.”

Zira heaved a shaky sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”

“Wonderful,” Dr Davis said. “Let’s get right into it, then, shall we?”

Zira hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Dr Davis ran him through a series of questions, which he said were routine and mandatory for him to ask. Trouble sleeping? Some, but it was manageable and didn’t affect him. Concentration issues? Since he was a child, but he’d learned to adjust to it. Problems with appetite? None whatsoever. Any thoughts of hurting himself or others? No, and the very idea horrified Zira. Et cetera, et cetera.

“Splendid,” Dr Davis said, jotting down Zira’s last answer. “I will be asking those questions every session, to make sure nothing has changed, or if it has, that it has improved. Now, what’s been happening with you lately? Tell me a little about how the last few months have been for you, if you’re willing.”

Zira worried his bottom lip. “Erm, well. I started my teaching position at St Beryl’s in September. I’ve never taught anyone before, so it’s an entirely new situation for me.”

“And how have you adjusted to that new situation?” Dr Davis pressed gently.

“Well… it was quite nerve-wracking at first,” Zira admitted. “I’m… not very fond of change. In fact, I  _ dread _ it. It throws me entirely off-balance. It… it took me quite a bit to adjust. I suppose… I suppose it was easier, though. Because of…” He cut himself off. “I can say names here? It’s confidential?”

“Entirely confidential,” Dr Davis confirmed. “Because of whom?”

“Crowley,” Zira breathed. His heart gave a funny little flutter. “Because of Crowley. I met them my first day at St Beryl’s.”

“Can you tell me a little about them?”

“They’re my best friend,” Zira said almost immediately. “I… I’ve never had a friend like them before. They immediately made me feel welcome, despite my dean warning me against them. He said they were bad, that they had a bad reputation, but they were… they were immediately kind to me. We go to lunch nearly every day. We sometimes go to dinner. We talk on the telephone all the time, and they’ll often keep me up late with their texts. They’re… they’re incredibly brilliant, if a bit eccentric. And their artwork is  _ beautiful. _ ” Zira sighed. “I’ve never been this close to anyone before.”

Dr Davis nodded. “Is this the friend who convinced you to seek help, then?”

Zira looked at the floor. “Yes,” he said. “I… I did something quite terrible. I’ve been trying to make it up to them since.”

The doctor nodded again. “I see. Can you tell me what it is you did?”

Zira hesitated again. He should say it, get it out in the open, confess one last time to his misdeeds. He could feel the emotion bubbling up in his throat as he thought about it, threatening to spill over if he spoke the words.

“I hurt them,” he whispered. “I said… oh, God, I said such horrible things to them.” His own words echoed in his ears as he spoke.  _ We can’t be friends! It’s your fault! _ “I… I blamed them for some things that were happening to me, which were out of my control. I…” he swallowed hard. “I thought God was punishing me for being their friend. I said it was their fault, and… and we couldn’t be friends.” His voice grew even softer, and broke on the last words. “I said they were ruining my life.”

Dr Davis watched him thoughtfully. “You don’t believe any of that, though. Right?”

Zira nodded miserably. “I never did, really. I was just… afraid. But… but I was more afraid when I realized what I had lost. I did apologize, and they forgave me. And I’m… I’m  _ so  _ grateful that they did, I honestly don’t know what I would have done otherwise.” He wrung his hands. “I don’t think I deserve their forgiveness. I hurt them  _ so  _ terribly.” A noise of frustration escaped him, then. “But I feel so… so  _ guilty, _ saying these things, feeling so sad. I shouldn’t be the one feeling so awful about the situation.  _ Crowley _ was the one who was hurt.  _ I’m _ the one that hurt them.” He let out another frustrated sound, burying his face in his hands. “It’s like a  _ war _ inside me. This misery is a punishment for what I did, but it’s also just adding to my guilt and my fear and —” He broke off, trying very hard to stifle a sob. “I don’t know why they’re still my friend,” he managed, his eyes stinging.

Dr Davis leaned forward, a box of face tissues in hand. “It’s alright to feel these things, Zira,” he said as Zira took one and dabbed at his eyes. “Feeling guilty over your mistakes means you’re much less likely to do it again. However, you can’t let that guilt spill over into shame and self-loathing. That just leads you into a spiral of depression, and that doesn’t solve or improve anything.”

Zira nodded and sniffled. “I understand,” he said softly. “I just don’t know  _ why _ I feel this way.”

“Hopefully, I can help you figure it out,” Dr Davis said. “We can spend some time assessing how your mind works, and the best strategies for you to use to understand how your emotions affect you, and what you can do to comprehend and manage the things you feel. Does that sound alright?”

Zira nodded again. “I think I can do that.”

“Wonderful,” the therapist said. “I’m so glad I got to meet you and speak with you today, Zira. You’re a very interesting person, and I look forward to helping you.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” Zira replied, and stood, taking his leave.

As he stepped outside, he found it amazing how, even though Dr Davis didn’t do much other than listen, Zira felt much, much lighter.

* * *

The next week found Zira and Crowley once again sharing daily lunches in the cafe. Oblivious to the world around them (filled with whispering, chattering students (and some staff) who had all collectively begun to cotton on to the closeness between the two professors), the pair sat and drank tea and ate sandwiches and debated furiously on the correctness of historical legends, the value of modern abstract artwork, and whether any of the  _ Harry Potter _ films were as good as their book counterparts. (Crowley insisted that  _ The Deathly Hallows _ two-part film was as just as good as the book, whereas Zira was convinced that all of the films were shallow and not as well developed.)

It was because of their resumed proximity, combined with their growing emotional closeness, that thoughts of each other soon began to infiltrate their separate lives. Everything reminded Zira of Crowley, just as everything somehow reminded Crowley of Zira. Such thoughts would occasionally escape their minds, typically without their notice, and one would make a passing remark about the other to whoever they were speaking to.

“You know,” Zira said on one such occasion, while in the middle of teaching an Intro to World Religion course, “my dear friend and I were just discussing this the other day. They postulated that the main religion of a nation can influence not only the culture and society of the nation, but the way all other religions in that nation are practiced. Of course, in my studies I have noticed the cultural and religious influences a predominant religion can have, but I did some more specific research on this topic and I discovered that they were  _ right. _ They always did have an eye for this sort of thing.”

On another occasion, Crowley was teaching a B-level art history class, when they said, “D’you know, my friend really despises Byzantine artwork? Nothing I can do can convince him of the value of these mosaics. Can you believe it?”

A few students snickered, and one muttered, “Oh, I  _ definitely _ believe it.” 

Crowley whirled on them. “What was that?” they asked in that low, scary tone of voice. “Want to share your opinion with the class?”

“W-well,” the student said, suddenly looking rather cowed, “I just… I don’t find mosaics that… interesting?”

Crowley pursed their lips. “Mm-hmm,” Crowley said, nodding slowly. “Well, kid, are you at least still open to learning about them and their significance to the places they decorated?”

The student considered this. They nodded. “Yeah, I-I think so,” they said.

Crowley nodded. “Well, my friend certainly wasn’t,” they said simply, “glad that you’re more open-minded than he is.” And they resumed their lecture.

* * *

**_server:_** **_The Them_**

Monday, February 4, 10:17 am

**sword lesbian:** hhhhhhhh

**brain: ** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**sandwich bitch:** ???????????????????

**the antichrist™: ** is this about crowley and fell again

**the antichrist™: ** you know i dont have classes with them this term

**the antichrist™: ** you have to fill me in if you found something out

**sandwich bitch:** actually yeah me too, i’m not in fell’s class

**sandwich bitch:** :eyes:

**sword lesbian:** DR FELL MENTIONED DR CROWLEY  _ AGAIN _

**brain:** not by name but YEAH HE DID.

**sword lesbian:** **_This is unreal._**

**the antichrist™: ** :eyes_intensify:

**the antichrist™: ** I cant believe this im shakign

**sandwich bitch:** actually they should just kiss, smh

**the antichrist™: ** @sword lesbian i think we can safely say that they’re pining for each other now right

**the antichrist™:** are we allowed to intervene now

**sword lesbian:** Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

**sword lesbian:** I. I guess we should start to think of a plan

**brain:** YES!

**the antichrist™: ** i have a plan

**the antichrist™: ** 1- get them together

**the antichrist™: ** 2- lock them in a room

**the antichrist™: ** 3- wait for them to kiss

**the antichrist™: ** 4- quest complete!

**the antichrist™: ** it’s flawless

**sword lesbian:** Adam I am not letting you play matchmaker til you ask out Hot Goth.

**the antichrist™: ** see i  _ would _ do that if they werent so  _ scary _

**sword lesbian: ** Adam they are literally just another uni student. Besides didn’t they smile at you the other day? They’re friendly! Why are you so intimidated by them?????

**the antichrist™: ** how can i NOT be intimidated beyond all reason by a goth wiccan named WARLOCK who is an expert on THEORETICAL PHYSICS pepper

**sword lesbian: ** ANYWAY Adam your plan is  _ terrible. _ Does anyone have any better ideas?

**brain: ** kidnap one and wait for the other to rescue them?

**sandwich bitch:** write notes to both of them saying it’s from the other with confessions of undying love?

**sword lesbian:** Brian that plan is awful. Wensley you might be onto something.

**the antichrist™: ** what??? no!!!!! wendys plan is rubbish. theyd figure it out right away

**the antichrist™: ** dr fell’s handwriting is too fancy for us to replicate.

**the antichrist™: ** and besides i don’t think they’d even believe us!

**sword lesbian: ** You’re right. I nnbfsf x csdg

**the antichrist™: ** ??????????????????

**sandwich bitch:** ?!?!?!!?!??!?!?!!??!?!

**sword lesbian: ** dr fell s aw my nobile i hsve to go

**sandwich bitch:** rip in peace pepper

**sandwich bitch:** smote by an angel

**the antichrist™: ** forever in our hearts

12:02 pm

**sword lesbian:** I’m alive :)

**sandwich bitch:** congratulations?

**brain:** dr fell didnt kill her and he didnt even see my mobile

**brain:** but i wasnt about to risk it

**brain: ** his disappointed face is the worst thing ive ever experienced

**sword lesbian:** Yeah it’s pretty much the worst

**sword lesbian:** Anyway anyone want to meet up for lunch so we can discuss a game plan?

**the antichrist™: ** i thought my plan was pretty good,,,,

**sword lesbian:** It really wasn’t Adam. If you have any better ideas you can tell us over lunch :)

**the antichrist™: ** :’(

3:17 pm

**the antichrist™: ** ok so we have our plan (and it’s  _ my plan!!!!) _

**sword lesbian:** *new revised plan

**the antichrist™: ** shhhh let me have this

**the antichrist™: ** ANYWAY now all we have to do is start implementing it

**brain: ** its a pretty good plan adam

**brain: ** but how are u going to do anything if u dont have either of them as professors?

**sandwich bitch:** actually yeah at least the rest of us have an excuse for talking to them

**the antichrist™: ** thats why i have you guys isnt it?

**sword lesbian: ** :rolling_eyes:

**sword lesbian:** I guess you’re the Grand Director or whatever behind this Great Plan then?

**the antichrist™: ** yeah! i tell u what to do and all of u do it!

**the antichrist™: ** its flawless :))))

**sword lesbian: ** We’re unionizing.

**the antichrist™: ** D:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone welcome to the end notes! is everyone proud of zira for talking about his problems because I AM! also just a quick psa to pls read over ur comments real fast before commenting bc a lot of ppl are accidentally misgendering crowley (wrong pronouns, calling them a "boi" which is not only belittling but also still wrong, etc) and i don't always have the energy to reply and correct u. thank u! <3
> 
> ALRIGHTY i got that out of the way now to get into the FUN STUFF!! how is everyone doing? are u drinking enough water? are u washing ur hands obsessively? are u doing anything fun for the summer? have u discovered a new song/artist that absolutely slaps? tell me about ur life! i just bought the video game journey on steam and ohhhhhh my god folks it's so beautiful and the protagonist is genderless (can i hear a wahoo)!!!!!
> 
> next chapter we see how infatuated crowley truly is, Feelings are Felt, parallels to the show are drawn yet again, and i have way too much fun trying to convey the sound of swelling romantic violins through text. don't forget to leave a comment and a kudos, and give me a follow on tumblr @morosexual-aziraphale!


	20. Miracle Of My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's behavior around Zira begins to change, and he's not sure whether to love it or be concerned. Things escalate quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyyy so it's been a fucking month again, sorry about that ahahahahahaha, i swear i'm still dedicated to writing this but work and school have been dominating my life, not to mention, oh yeah, the WHOLE FUKCING WORLD IS FALLING APART. it's fine tho happens all the time
> 
> it is currently about 1:07 pm as i'm typing this note because i wanted to get this chapter finished and out to all of you as soon as possible :')
> 
> no content warnings for this chapter, and honestly, this might be one of my favorites! i've been looking forward to writing this chapter for MONTHS and i'm SO HYPED to finally get it out there! i hope everyone else enjoys reading it as much as i did while writing it!

One chilly day in early February, Zira sat in his office preparing for a lecture when there was a knock on his office door. “Come in,” he said, not looking up from his lecture notes.

The door opened and there was Crowley, sunglasses firmly affixed over their eyes, looking a little pale in the face. “Hey, angel,” they said casually, striding into the room. “Got you something.” They placed something onto his desk before swiftly retreating from the office, shutting the door behind them without even saying goodbye.

Zira stared after him. “What on  _ Earth _ was that all about?” he asked nobody.

He looked down at the thing Crowley had brought for him. It was a white mug, with angel wings instead of a handle. “Oh,” he said faintly.

Crowley had gotten him a  _ gift. _ They had probably seen it in a store and thought of him. And then went so far as to  _ buy _ it and then  _ give it to him _ without even  _ thinking  _ of Zira giving them something in return!

"Oh, dear," Zira said, for a lack of anything else to say. "Oh, my."

It was very kind of Crowley, to get him something, but Zira had no idea how to respond to such a gesture. He would thank Crowley, obviously, but should he do something more? Should he reciprocate? Would Crowley take it the wrong way? Would Crowley take it the  _ right  _ way? Zira didn't know which was worse.

“Oh, dear,” he said again, and rested his chin in his hand, suddenly caught up in a whirlwind of anxiety brought on by a simple gesture. What should he do about it?

“Well,” he thought aloud, trying to calm himself before he spiralled, “what would Dr Davis tell me to do about it? He would probably tell me to think about things from Crowley’s perspective. What would  _ they _ expect out of this? What would  _ they _ gain from giving me a gift?” He thought about it. “I suppose they aren’t the type of person to expect anything in return. I know they barely handle being thanked most days. They would probably refuse any gift I tried to give to them in return.”

He sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to accept the gift and thank them. If I gave them a gift they’d just try to do me one better, and we can  _ not _ have a competition going on.”

A tempting idea though it was, he really didn’t want anything to tarnish or ruin their growing friendship. “Right,” he said, and nodded decisively. “That’s that settled.”

His eyes returned to the mug Crowley had given to him. He couldn’t help but smile, a little, private smile, and run his hands over the object.  _ It really was quite sweet of them, _ he thought dreamily, then blushed as he realized his thoughts were straying dangerously close to a precipice he really did not have the emotional stability to fall over at this time. Carefully, he pushed those thoughts back away from the point of no return, and instructed them to stay there until he was well and ready.

Of course, we all know that these sorts of things rarely listen to our carefully constructed common sense and logic we use to try to keep them where we want them. And Zira was about to find this out for himself.

* * *

As the week passed, Crowley continued to do little things for him. They complimented him on his clothing, or his hair, or a well-put together response in one of their friendly debates. They insisted on paying every time they went to lunch together. They sketched his portrait twice more —  _ twice! _ — and each one was more beautiful than the last. They gave him two more gifts: a little bookmark with the embroidered image of a rosy-cheeked, golden-haired angel, which they insisted looked just like Zira, and a fern, one of their own houseplants, transferred to a cheery little clay pot. They said it had been “disappointing” lately, pointing out a few brown leaves, and added that they needed to hand it off to someone who knew nothing of plant care so it knew how good it had had it back at Crowley’s place. (Zira knew better.)

Funnily enough, although these interactions occurred frequently, and each little thing Crowley did for him was sweeter than the last, their conversations began to grow stilted and even borderline awkward, trailing off into silences where they would just stare at each other until one or the other would shake their head and say, “Sorry, anyway, what were we talking about?” and then pick up a new conversation thread, which would then meet the same awkward fate.

More awkward still were their interactions whenever they passed each other on school grounds. Zira noticed that as soon as he approached them, their face would grow the same hue as their hair and they would duck their head with an awkward wave. Their greetings, which had once been a “Hello, angel, how’s stuff?” to which Zira would respond with a fond “Good afternoon, my dear, everything is perfectly splendid,” or something to that regard, had turned into a stilted, “Hey,” responded to with a, “Hello,” or “Good afternoon,” or simply, “Crowley.”

It really was starting to worry Zira. Crowley was having a hard time speaking to him, and he was entirely unable to parse out  _ why. _ They wouldn’t tell him  _ anything. _

The real problem was, Zira was starting to suspect that he may have  _ feelings _ for them, and he was entirely unable to tell if Crowley felt the same. Of course, he had some sort of inkling that perhaps Crowley was more attached to him than the average friend, but then again, they were  _ best _ friends. Perhaps that was just how best friends acted. Perhaps one got the other gifts and paid for their lunches and complemented their looks.

Well, how was Zira supposed to know?

* * *

One night, that Thursday, in fact, Crowley had gotten themself a little tipsy and had decided to call Zira. He picked up on the second ring to an enthusiastic, “Hey, angel! Gotta question for you. D’you think ducks have ears?”

Zira pondered this for a moment, but Crowley got there first. “Well, I suppose they must do. That’s how they hear other ducks.  _ Anyway. _ How’re things, angel? No, don’t tell me — you’re  _ reading.” _

“Why, yes I am, as a matter of fact.”

“And what,” Crowley said, over-enunciating as they tended to do when they had consumed just a bit too much alcohol, “are you reading, angel of mine?”

Zira coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. What. Are. You reading?”

“That’s not —” Zira stopped himself. Crowley was intoxicated, and was probably just saying nonsense to wind him up. He sighed, exasperated. “ _ The Lord of the Rings, _ the second book, if you  _ must _ know.”

“Ooooh,” Crowley drawled, and there was a distinct slurping noise which indicated that Crowley probably had a glass of something alcoholic in hand. At least, Zira hoped they were using a glass. “Which one’s that?  _ The Two Towers? _ Think that one’s the best out of the films.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Zira said airily, “I’ve never seen the films.”

Crowley made a spluttering noise of disbelief. “Y — wh — h — you’ve never seen any of the  _ Lord of the Rings _ films?”

“No, I don’t find it necessary. The film adaptation is  _ rarely _ as good as the original book.”

“Oh, angel, but these  _ are,”  _ Crowley insisted. “You —” here they hiccoughed — “you  _ need _ to see these films. They’re absolutely  _ glorious. _ The sinna… sinny… sintoma… nnngh, the  _ movie-making _ is so good. ‘S art, basically. Y’should come watch them with me. Sometime. If y’want.”

Zira considered this. “You promise they’re actually good, and you’re not just saying this to tempt me into watching some horrible picture?”

“Swear on my life, angel,” Crowley drawled. “But if it were the other thing, d’you think I would tell you?”

Zira smiled fondly. “I suppose you wouldn’t, you wiley thing, you. Alright, when you’re sober we can arrange a date. I don’t trust your scheduling skills when you’re intoxicated.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Crowley groaned theatrically. “But remind me, eh, angel? My memory’s not what it used to be.”

“Your memory has never been good,” Zira grinned. “Alright, Crowley. Please make sure you have a glass of  _ water _ before you sleep tonight. I know how hangovers can turn into migraines for you and I cannot allow that to happen, since I am very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Alright, angel,” Crowley said, and he could practically  _ hear _ them rolling their eyes. “I’ll stop drinking now so I’m not an absolute wreck tomorrow. You get some sleep too, y’hear? I know books can, erm. Suck you in. Don’t let that happen, right?”

“Right,” Zira said, practically beaming now. Crowley was so  _ kind. _ So  _ thoughtful. _ “Goodnight, my dear.”

“Night, Zira.”

* * *

“Knock knock, angel,” Crowley called out, rapping on the doorway to Zira’s office.

Zira looked up, beaming so brightly he almost blinded Crowley through their sunglasses. “Crowley!”

“Was just passing through,” Crowley said casually. “Drove by a bakery this morning and got myself a croissant, thought you’d want something as well.” They slid a box across Zira’s desk, and when he opened it he found three beautiful danishes.

He looked up at Crowley. “Oh, these look  _ scrumptious,” _ he said. “Thank you, my dear. Although I can’t  _ possibly _ fathom which to eat first, they all look so perfect.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Crowley said, “I have a class very soon. See you for lunch?”

“As always,” Zira smiled.

“Great. See you then.” Crowley exited with a graceful wave, leaving Zira alone to delight in their most recent gift.

As usual, they met for lunch that day, this time at the sushi place Zira loved. He once again spoke perfect Japanese to the chef, and once again he missed the way Crowley stared at him when he did so. While the chef prepared their meal, Crowley commented, “You know, it never gets old — you speaking different languages, I mean. You’re fantastically clever, angel.”

Zira blushed. “Oh, pish posh. I’ve just been around a while.”

“I mean it,” Crowley insisted. “You’re incredible.”

Zira ducked his head. “That’s enough of that, dear. Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“Why do you ask?” Crowley grinned, taking the bait. “Planning to ask me on a hot date?”

“Oh, really, Crowley,” Zira scolded, and batted their arm. “Is it too much for me to take an interest in my best friend’s life?”

Crowley, wisely, decided not to comment on the words “best friend” and instead went with the whole sentence. “Course not, angel,” they said, “was teasing, you know that. No, I don’t have plans for the weekend. Other than some long phone calls with  _ my _ best friend, wherein I shall complain for long periods of time about how  _ dense _ some of my students are.”

“You complain about that every single time we speak.”

“Well, time doesn’t seem to be improving them.” Crowley shrugged. “How about you?” they continued, leaning towards Zira. “Got anything planned for the weekend?”

At this, Zira’s face fell. “Oh, Crowley,” he bemoaned, “it’s ever so disappointing. I was supposed to travel quite a distance out of London to purchase a rare antique book from a private book collector, but I had forgotten that I had some rather important things to attend to this weekend, and now I won’t be able to go out and get it. I would wait until next weekend, but it’s in rather high demand, and if I can’t retrieve it this weekend, it’ll most certainly be gone in a week.”

Crowley nodded sympathetically. “Poor angel,” they said. “What book was it?”

“It’s a leatherbound King James Bible, actually,” Zira said, looking miserable. “It’s really in good condition considering how old it is — it’s from the seventeenth century, did you know — and I was hoping I might be able to restore it a bit, just touch up some of the old leather, polish up the metal latches, you know. I do love old Bibles very much, and maybe I have too many, of them, but, well. This is very special to me.” 

He sighed. “Ah, well. Plenty of other antique Bibles out there, I suppose.” He gave Crowley a rather weak smile before turning to accept the platter of sushi the chef placed before him.

Well, now. Crowley wasn’t going to be having  _ that. _

* * *

For once in their life, Crowley woke up bright and early on a Saturday morning. The first thing they did was text Zira.

**Morning, angel! Just out of curiosity, what bookseller were you going to be visiting today if you had the time?**

They showered and dressed while waiting for Zira to reply, and by the time they had finished braiding their hair they had a response.  _ He’s a private collector, actually. Name of Jonah Stafford, I believe. We’re acquaintances in our field. _

**And you’re sure you can’t convince him to hold onto the book until next weekend?**

_ Very sure, Crowley. He’s very insistent — he had another prospective buyer that would be picking the book up later this week if I didn’t show today or tomorrow. _

**Poor angel. Bereft of yet another slab of paper to add to the towering stacks.**

_ Now now, there’s no need to tease, dear. _

**Not sorry ;)**

_ You’re incorrigible. _

**You like it.**

_ Perhaps I do. _

**:D :D :D**

Crowley opened Google. Thank God for powerful search engines, they thought as they entered “private collector jonah stafford” into the search bar. There was a Facebook page, which they opened, and on that Facebook page was a telephone number and an address, both of which Crowley saved.

Next, Crowley called the number. He informed Mr Stafford that Dr Fell was unable to retrieve the book, but they were his partner and they would be picking up the book for him instead. Mr Stafford was very pleasant and understanding, and said that of  _ course _ they could get the book for him, and weren’t they such a wonderful partner for doing this for Dr Fell?

Exchanging pleasant farewells and promising to be at Mr Stafford’s residence in two hours, Crowley rang off and prepared themself to leave, eating an apple and a bowl of flavourless cereal before selecting a pair of shoes from their wardrobe, setting their sunglasses on the bridge of their nose, grabbing their car keys, mobile, and wallet, and leaving their house.

After stopping at the bank to withdraw a frankly ludicrous amount of cash, because Crowley  _ knew  _ how these booksellers were, they set off towards their goal. The drive was long and tedious, the winding roads further into the countryside seemingly endless, but luckily, Crowley had expertly curated their Spotify with only the very best songs to sing along rather poorly to, and sing along they did, untrained voice ringing out of their open windows as they approached Jonah Stafford’s home and vast collection of antique books.

Mr Stafford’s home was, predictably, full of books. Books permeated every inch of the large house, even where they were not visible. The place smelled of old leather, old paper, old binding glue, and old ink. Crowley was sure their clothes were going to smell of it for days.

Purchasing the book was quite easy, all things considered. Mr Stafford was incredibly pleasant in person, and indeed reminded them quite a bit of Zira. Of course, he only took cash, but luckily, Crowley was prepared, and handed over the money quite proudly. After counting it twice, Mr Stafford thanked Crowley, shook their hand eagerly, and congratulated them on “finally getting that Dr Fell to focus on something other than books.” Farewells were exchanged, hands were shaken once again, and Crowley was off once more, driving back to their house.

Well, they  _ intended _ to drive back to their house. But it didn’t seem  _ right _ to wait until Monday to give this book to Zira. He was just so miserable at having missed this opportunity. No, Crowley decided, taking a turn that would bring them into London instead of back home, they were going to pay a surprise visit to their friend (their  _ best _ friend!) and give him this gift.

(Would this finally be it? Would this be the gift that made Zira realize that Crowley was well and truly in love with him? Would this be the gift that ended this painful pining and tied up their story with a bow and a kiss? Crowley was almost shaking in their seat from the anticipation, trying not to get their hopes up while hope itself thrummed traitorously in their heart.)

Upon arriving at Zira’s flat, Crowley jumped out of their car with the book and strode up to the door, knocking on it with three sharp raps. Then, they waited for Zira.

And waited.

They knocked again.

This time, there was a faint sound of something toppling over, a muffled exclamation, a shout of “Coming, coming!” and then Zira was pulling the door open and staring at Crowley, who suddenly felt a little ridiculous.

“Crowley?” Zira said, his face the picture of confusion. “I was just getting prepared to leave, I have somewhere to be —” His eyes finally wandered to what Crowley was holding, and his eyes widened. “Crowley, what — what’s that you have there?”

Crowley remembered themself. “Oh, erm, right.” They held out the paper-wrapped book towards Zira. “Only, you were so disappointed that you couldn’t get it, and I thought… well, here. You should have it.”

Zira took it reverently, staring down at it like it was baby Christ Himself in his hands. Carefully, he unwrapped the paper and stared down at the slightly battered leather cover. “Oh,” he breathed, seemingly speechless. He looked back up at Crowley, who noticed with dismay that his eyes were full of tears. “Oh, Crowley, you didn’t have to — why did you —”

“Wanted to,” Crowley said nonchalantly. “Couldn’t just… let you be mopey all week.”

Zira’s mouth moved for a few moments without producing any words, before he finally managed, “How did you even… how did you even get it?”

Crowley shrugged, grinning. “Little miracle of my own, angel.”

Something flickered across Zira’s face, then. So fast Crowley couldn’t tell what it was, only that, for a brief instant, there was a flash of  _ something _ in Zira’s eyes. His body swayed, like he wanted to move forward and step away at the same time. For a wild moment, Crowley thought he was going to kiss them. (God, did they want it, though.)

“I… thank you,” Zira whispered. “Thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded, the motion stilted as they didn’t want to tear their eyes away from Zira’s face for an instant. “No trouble, really. Just had to talk to a guy about a thing and then, voila, book in hand. Could do it again if you asked. Maybe even if you didn’t.” Oh, shit, they were babbling. “Anyway, gotta get on,” they said wildly, “got lots of, erm, stuff to do. Made plans last night. Gotta… gotta get to those. And you — you have places to be, too. Erm. Have fun. At those places.”

They spun on their heel and just barely managed to not run back to their car, instead walking comically fast and swinging into their vehicle with a sudden desperation to  _ get out of there now _ before they did something  _ monumentally stupid _ like snog the everliving daylights out of their best friend.

Even as they peeled away, music once again playing much too loudly, they were able to see Zira still standing there in his doorway, staring at the book with a poleaxed expression on his pretty face.

* * *

Zira was going to have a fucking breakdown. After Crowley had driven away, he had finally managed to get the book into his flat without falling flat on his face, but now he had to sit down and take stock of all of his internal organs to make sure none of them were malfunctioning, because his heart was beating far too hard, and he was sweating, and he was breathing quite quickly, and his mind was all muddled and foggy, and all he could see was Crowley’s grin, and all he could hear was “Little miracle of my own, angel,” and all he could feel was an intense, overpowering, overwhelming,  _ love. _

He was in  _ love  _ with Crowley. Totally, completely, incomprehensibly, irreversibly in  _ love _ with them. He was afraid it might consume him, actually, that he might drown in it, that it might seize his heart and stop it from the force it was exerting on him. He was in  _ love. _

Of  _ course _ it would be a bloody  _ book _ that would knock him unwillingly into this inescapable abyss of emotion like lemmings off a cliff. Of  _ course _ it would be a sodding  _ King James Bible. _ The irony was almost maddening.

He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. He wanted to  _ laugh. _ He was terrified and giddy and overwhelmed with the weight of his feelings.

“I’m going to be late,” he said aloud, his voice pitchy and hysterical to his own ears. “I’m going to be late because of sodding Crowley and their blasted gifts.” He couldn’t bring himself to care, but he had to say the words anyway so he could keep some sort of sanity about himself.

“I’m in  _ love _ with Crowley,” he said, and although his voice shook when he said the words, he knew that there was no stronger truth in the whole of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand fin. wow what a wild ride folks! did u think they were gonna kiss? sorry if u did (im not sorry hehehehehe) but that's not coming til a later chapter, we've got a lot of plot to get to in the next several chapters before the smorch and the confessions! 
> 
> ANYWAY pls let me know what u think in the comments, and drop a kudos if ur new to this fic (or if u've been reading for a while and just forgot)! and maybe bookmark this and rec it to your friends, i don't know! love u all, i'll see u in the next chapter, wherein zira is Not Subtle and Everyone Meddles :D :D :D


	21. Webs of Truth and Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them does some snooping. Dr Crowley spills a secret. Dean Zebub hears some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first i said this fic would be back in October. October was midterms. So then i said this fic would be back in November, but i had like 78347593857 projects to work on in November even during the break. So now it's almost christmas and i'm way behind on this fic but i FINALLY have a chapter finished for y'all so. Sorry about the wait but i'm BACK and BETTER THAN EVER!
> 
> Also, please note that I did bring the rating down from E because I want to include ace folks and minors in this fic experience as well, if ur a baby reading this fic hello u cool baby!!!! The sexy scene I was originally going to include in this fic will end up being published as a separate one-shot that you can read only if you want to.
> 
> ANYWAY please enjoy this chapter, it was super fun to write!

Dr Fell’s Monday and Tuesday classes did not do a lot of learning concerning theology, culture, or religion. Instead, all of his classes were subject to long, distracted gushes of pure elation concerning Dr Fell, a new book he received, and his “dear friend” who bought it for him. “Oh, that reminds me,” he would say at some random moment a few minutes into the class, “I recently got my hands on a very rare copy of an original seventeenth century King James Bible. In fact, my dear friend was the one who went and bought it for me. I was  _ ever  _ so delighted to receive it, and they were so very kind to go to all that trouble for a book, I never  _ ever _ would have asked them to do it, of course…”

And on, and on.

His students found this odd, of course, but most of them didn’t mind that much. After all, what student doesn’t like an opportunity to stop taking notes?

However, some students in his Tuesday class — Pepper and Brian, naturally — immediately latched onto this prolonged rambling and were easily able to deduce who this “dear friend” was.

The two students shot each other a Look with a capital L. Pepper nodded to Brian. Things were officially going too far, and it seemed as though some sort of intervention was now required. So, after Dr Fell had finished his rambling, distracted lecture, he was cornered by a fierce-faced Pepper, who waited until the room was empty, stuck her hands firmly to her hips, and asked him, “Are you alright?”

“Only,” Brian chimed in behind her, “you’re really distracted, and we know something’s up.”

“You’ve been acting weird for  _ weeks,” _ Pepper accused.

Dr Fell sighed as a strange look came over his face. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Only…” He sighed again, and his eyes wandered around the room, avoiding the faces of his students. “Only, have you ever wanted something  _ terribly _ and yet known that you could never, ever have it?”

Pepper and Brian considered this, and then Pepper frowned. "Like a PS4?"

Dr Fell blinked. "A what? No, it doesn't matter. Not like that. Well, I suppose… it could be rather like that? Oh, I'm too tired for metaphors."

Squinting, Brian asked, "Dr Fell, are you in love or something?"

"I… rather think I am," Dr Fell said. There was no surprise in his voice — more like he was resigned to his fate. "Oh, dear, what a conundrum I have gotten myself into."

The two students exchanged a look. "Look, Dr Fell," Pepper said carefully, "sometimes, when we want something really badly, we can start to… lose hope, if we can't get it right away. But maybe, things just… haven't all slotted into place. Maybe it isn't the right time. Maybe destiny, or the powers that be, or whatever you believe in, isn't finished tying things up yet."

"What Pep's trying to say," Brian chimed in, "is that it's okay for you to be in love, and you can't give up hope that it's never gonna be reciprocated."

"I had a really good vocabulary word of the day from my dictionary app last week.  _ Ineffable,"  _ Pepper said. "That's what this sort of thing is. You can't see everything that's happening right now, you just have to trust that things are going to go your way eventually."

Brian and Pepper shot each other another not-so-covert glance. "Even if we have to stage a few interventions to get you there."

Blinking rapidly and looking rather flustered, Dr Fell said, "Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about. Now, run along, I'm sure you have much more important things to do in much more interesting places." He guided them out of the room, then hurried to his office and hid until his pounding heartbeat had slowed its hopeful, panicked thrum.

* * *

It was a particularly frigid Wednesday that week when Crowley could be found draped dramatically across the sofa in Tracy’s office like a swooning damsel. “This is torture, Tracy,” they bemoaned.

“I understand, love,” she sympathized. “Tea?”

A spindly forearm shifted from its position covering two honey-brown eyes. “Yes.”

“Alright, no worries, there’s a love. I’ll get that on for you while you tell me all about your problems, how does that sound?”

“Well,  _ that,  _ see,  _ that’s _ the problem, Tracy! Because it’s  _ not _ a problem! I’d gladly suffer in silence for  _ eternity _ for this bastard of an angel.” Crowley smothered a groan into their elbow. “Zira is  _ not _ the problem.”

“Then what is, Anthony?” she pressed gently, setting a portable kettle to heat.

“It’s the bloody — the blasted — yarrrggghh,” Crowley said wittily, contorting with the discomfort of their emotions. Both arms now covered their face, elbow-to-forehead, like they had attempted to bump a volleyball over an invisible net, missed, and landed on their back, legs akimbo, back arched. It wasn’t the most comfortable pose, but then again, nothing about Crowley felt comfortable right now.

“I see.”

“It’s ‘cos I love him, see,” Crowley said miserably, muffled into their arms. “Him and his blasted… velvet waistcoats, because he insists that velvet is the 'most satisfying texture' and refuses to wear anything else. His stupid little bowties which somehow make him look… cuddly.” Crowley wrinkled their nose in a weak attempt at disdain, but their arms fell away from their face. “All his books that he loves like they’re his own children, and the way he laughs at the pranks I play on other people but doesn’t like it when I prank him.”

Crowley sighed. “His big hazel eyes with universes inside. The way his smiles light up the whole damned city. The way he knows so many different languages just off the top of his head and then gets flustered when I compliment him on his knowledge. His  _ voice, _ when he speaks, when he laughs, when he  _ sings.” _

They rolled over onto their stomach, propping their chin up on folded forearms. A few locks of red hair fell across their face, and they puffed ineffectually at them with a few lazy breaths. “I even love the way he looks when he’s angry, and shocked, and startled, and sad. I love the way he’s so expressive, so intuitive, so intelligent. I love the way he feels and isn’t ashamed to feel.”

Another sigh, and a deft hand reached up to brush the hair from their face. “He’s soft in every way, but he’s also… strong. Strong enough to hold me up when I can’t do it myself, I think. Strong enough to fight against everything he’s ever known so he can be happy. And… and I  _ know, _ I know he loves me. He loves me as a friend, as best friends do, maybe even as closely as family. But the way I love him…” Crowley shifted to their back again, and gestured to the ceiling like they were illustrating the expanse of the stars. “It would overflow the universe, I think,” they said softly. “I really think it would.”

After giving this speech, they made a face. “Ugh, look what he’s done to me,” they complained, “I’ve gone  _ soft.  _ I’ve got a  _ gooey center _ now. Like a… a goddamn nougat bar.”

Tracy smiled and handed them a cup of tea. “I think it’s lovely, Anthony,” she said. “Now, drink up.”

* * *

Anyone who remotely knew Marjorie Potts knew that she could usually be trusted with a secret, unless she thought that keeping said secret was harming people, she really needed to get the secret out to someone else for her own sanity, or she got righteously drunk one night and decided to phone up some of her friends and the secret just sort of… fell out.

To this day, nobody, not even Tracy, was sure exactly which one this particular situation fell under. It was so complicated, was the thing, and although she felt a bit of guilt after, she didn’t exactly  _ regret _ everything that transpired after she opened her mouth.

Anyway, we all know that all old people know each other. It’s a strange phenomenon, but it seems to hold true. Every old person seems to be connected closely with every other old person — it's like the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but with your Granny and some random man in a completely different country who know each other through friends of friends from thirty years ago. So it’s only logical to assume that Tracy was good friends with every professor over the age of sixty.

Something else we all know: old people love to gossip. It’s the only exciting thing in their lives, and the main way they receive all their information and news. So it’s no surprise that when Tracy opened her mouth to one of her friends and let out Crowley’s secret, things got quite out of hand quite fast.

So, news went through the telephone line from Tracy’s lips to the ear of her elderly friend, and it spread like wildfire from there, both inside and outside of the university circles. Whisper down the lane had never been so efficient, and telephones had never been ringing quite so often on a Thursday evening. 

By Friday, a good portion of the university staff knew — though everyone knew very well to keep such news away from those who might use it against poor Dr Crowley or Dr Fell. Despite what either professor thought, there were more staff on their side than there were against them, and now, courtesy of one Professor Potts, they had a small army cheering for them.

* * *

Coincidentally, Friday was the day Dr Zebub’s eclectic gallery show was scheduled to open. The whole college of the arts turned out, as well as plenty of professors and students from a plethora of different concentrations. Everyone had to see why the artist had decided to name their show  _ Decay. _

It was evident immediately upon viewing the first piece of artwork — the bodies of dead flies were incorporated into every composition. Stuck into thick, tacky oil paint, glued onto intricately woven and painted spiderweb-esque sculptures, sewn into tapestries, trapped in plaster, glass, wax, or silicone. And there was a variety of flies as well — gnats, houseflies, horseflies, and other, stranger pests were used. Somehow, nobody was surprised.

“So,” Dr Crowley drawled, taking a long swig of wine before raising an eyebrow at their colleague, “flies. What brought this on?”

“Damn buggerzzz kept on getting into my flat. My landlord won’t do a thing about ‘em, so I deczzided to take care of the problem more… creatively.”

Crowley nodded. “How’d they get into your flat, Bea?”

Bea looked a little shifty. “Look, that’sz none of your buisznesszz. They were attracted to another art project I’d sztarted.”

“I see,” Crowley said, squinting. “I probably don’t want to know, huh?”

“Nope.” Bea threw back their glass of wine with a loud gulp and grinned evilly. “Szzzo. Dr Fell.”

Crowley spat out their own wine. “Wh — what about ‘im?” they sputtered.

Ze leveled zir gaze at them. “Really, Tony? You’re gonna try to pull that on me?”

Crowley’s eyes flicked about briefly, then they tilted their head and stepped briskly out of the gallery hall of the art building, leading zir to a secluded corridor. “Look,” they said, “I’m not talking about it with all those people around. You know what everyone here thinks of me.”

Bea rolled zir eyes. “You’re szzuch a paranoid wanker, Tony. C’mon, almoszzt everyone knowzzz by now, anyway.”

Crowley made a choked little  _ ngk _ sound.  _ “Everyone?” _

“No, dumbasszzz. Not  _ everyone. _ Just the people Traczzy trusztz. And the people I truszt.  _ Not _ Heavenszzz, or any of hiz friendszz, and  _ definitely _ not Zzzz — Zzzzzzz — ah, fuck it. Dr Fell.”

“But — but won’t it spread?” Crowley ran an agitated hand through their hair. “Shit, I never should have trusted Tracy. Damn my stupid mouth! Damn my fucking impulses!”

“Woah, hey, calm down, Tony,” Bea said, putting a hand on their arm. “Traczzy knowszz better than to tell your szecret to people you can’t truszt. You know that. The only oneszz who know are onezz who would never share anything szzo personal without your permiszzion.”

Crowley took a few deep breaths. “I just — I can’t risk Dr Heavens finding out. He’d make Zira’s life hell. And — and if Zira found out, I…” They gulped. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

Bea gave them an odd look. “I don’t think you’ll szzcare him,” ze said. “I don’t think that’sz pozzible.”

The wide-eyed look Crowley gave zir was full of hope. “D’you think?” they asked softly. “I’m not really good at this. Having a best friend. Being…” They swallowed nervously, aware that they were once again going to admit their feelings out loud. “Being in love.”

“I don’t know him well,” Bea said, “but I know how you talk about him, and I know how he actszz when I szee him with you.” Ze nudged them with a sharp little elbow. “You’ve got to get out of your head, Tony. He likezz you more than you know.”

“Thanks, Bea,” Crowley said, finally cracking a smile, and they both returned to the gallery, Crowley’s confidence bolstered, Bea’s curiosity subdued.

Crowley carried that phrase throughout the rest of the day, throughout the weekend, throughout the telephone calls and long text conversations they had with Zira over the next several days. It filled them with hope, negated their anxiety, and smoothed over some of the doubts still lurking in the depths of their mind.  _ He likes you more than you know, _ Bea had said, and now Crowley was finally starting to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe it's been over a YEAR since i started this fic??? I KNOW!!!!! Thanks to everyone who's stuck around for so long, and i can promise the slow burn is ALMOST OVER. Up next: Gabriel is a fuckwad, Zira is an angel, and Crowley has capital T Trauma!
> 
> Please make sure to feed and water your content creators through comments, kudos, bookmarks, and recs, because we do this for FREE! No Moneys Honey! I delight in each and every comment I receive on this fic and try to respond to as many as I can because I LOVE talking with y'all!
> 
> If you want to chat with me more, you can find me on tumblr @morosexual-aziraphale, AND if you want to talk to Dr Crowley (and sometimes Zira, if you're lucky!), you can now find their ask blog on tumblr @askprofessorcrowley. :)
> 
> Hoping to have the next chapter out by the first week of January, see you all soon!

**Author's Note:**

> u can find me @morosexual-aziraphale on tumblr! also thanks to @anonlynymous on tumblr for listening to my rambles about this fic for hours on end!
> 
> don't forget to drop a kudos/comment and let me know what u think!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] love like yours (will surely come my way)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580889) by [CCs_World](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCs_World/pseuds/CCs_World), [Yleia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yleia/pseuds/Yleia)


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